Empty Cups and Chipped Hearts
by Lady Cobweb
Summary: Slowly but surely Regina's curse is breaking down, and what was once lost is being found again. Wounded birds are stretching their wings at last and Prince not-so Charmings are taking up their swords once more. Rumbelle.
1. Birds of a Feather

**A/N:** Well hello! S'been forever, no? Well I've fallen pretty hard for this pair, but I didn't just want to write about them. I feel like without the rest of their world to reflect them against they wouldn't be quite so alluring. SO, I'm writing a familiar Disney character and her hero into this story as well. Make your guesses as to who they are now, because by next chapter it will be absolutely apparent. And I wanted to stay in the spirit of the show; the chapters will jump sporadically between SB and FTL at mine and the characters' whims! And bear with me, this is the first story I've ever published without having written the whole thing down. Good Lord, I'm screwed. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of the fabulously fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for play time!

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**Birds of A Feather**

"You're looking so much better Katherine," said Dawn softly. Katherine smiled back at her, frail as an autumn leaf, the dark bruises under her eyes were changing from garish purple to soft dove grey. She really was looking so much healthier. Her cheeks weren't quite so hollow anymore and there was a hint of the familiar golden glow from her skin returning. Dawn stepped down harshly on a stray jealous thought.

"Just think, you'll be starting with rehab soon and then you're free as a bird!" Dr. Dawn Thornhill was going to do her damndest to make her friend feel better even if it meant that Katherine would soon be moving on with her life . . . leaving Dawn behind. Dawn was used to being alone, to being forgotten. She was plain, round as opposed to her lovely slender friends, and her skin was pale as paper. Who would remember her when she was surrounded by such beautiful women for companions?

Katherine shook her head and stared out of the hospital room wistfully. "I don't know Dawn, maybe . . . maybe this was a sign. No one ever leaves Storybrooke right?" she frowned in confusion as though chasing a thought that simply refused to be caught. "I guess that means there's something here I still have to do."

Dawn felt every muscle in her body tighten with excitement. Perhaps she wasn't going to lose her friend after all? "Well, maybe so. And you know I'll always be here if you need me, Kath. Just let me know in advance so I can clear a space for you in my _busy_ calendar," Dawn crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Self-deprecation was her specialty.

Katherine laughed weakly at her friend then inhaled deeply. "I don't want to go . . . well I guess it really isn't home anymore anyway is it?" she sighed and leaned back heavily into her hospital bed. "That house is just filled with . . ." she searched for the word. "Wrong things. What David and I had, it wasn't right." Katherine looked up at her friend sheepishly. "When they let me go, can I stay with you?"

Dawn couldn't help herself, she tucked a long strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear and smiled as brightly as she had ever remembered doing so before. Dawn lived in a small arts and crafts bungalow tucked near to the forest. It was little but she always kept her guest room dusted and homey. Just in case.

Just in case she didn't have to be alone anymore.

"Katherine you know you're welcome to stay with me as long as you want," she tried not to sound too eager but knew that she had failed miserably. Her friend sighed and closed her eyes, exhaustion was still her sworn enemy for the time being and so Dawn backed out of the hospital room to let Katherine rest.

Dawn tried not to skip to her office on the first floor to gather up her belongings and head home to get her house ready. She was going to have company! She halted abruptly in the hallway as if she had walked into a wall. _He_ had just come in. But that didn't make sense, why would _he_ be here? He caught sight of her, smiled, and started to head towards her. She wanted to run, but her feet had firmly taken root into the ground.

"Dawn! Hi, I was wondering where I'm supposed to go. I have an appointment for my flu shot. Any idea where that is?" Paul Sampson called to her as he approached. He was so handsome, all tanned skin from working out in the sun all day and that light brown hair that fell in soft waves and flopped slightly in the front. He was tall, and kind, and funny. And Dawn had been in love with him forever.

"Uh- oh, you'll want the um second floor," Dawn finally mumbled once she had some semblance of control over her mouth again. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, did he expect her to say something else?

He finally turned to leave, ripping a small corner of Dawn's heart from her chest in the process, when he stopped and turned to her once more. "Your hair's down," he said as if surprised it had come from his mouth. He smiled at her and said quietly, "I like it." Dawn touched her hair self-consciously, trying, desperately willing her voice to say 'thank you,' 'I'm glad,' 'it's for you,' anything! But by the time her lips had begrudgingly agreed to form words again he was gone. Damn.

Dawn schlepped into her office, banged the door closed and fell against it. She shook her head, embarrassed with herself. Why was she such a freaking spaz? She changed out of her doctor's jacket, grabbed her purse and keys and headed towards the underground lot where she had wedged her little silver Pinto in between two co-workers' giant SUVs that morning. She had just passed the door for the old psych ward when a gut wrenching scream wound its way up the stairs.

Dawn stopped, the hairs on her neck stood straight on end as if each one was just waiting for something more horrible to happen. It did. Another scream, as tinny and faint as the first crawled out from beneath the door. Its presence made her skin crawl.

No one was supposed to be down there.

Dawn eased the door open and flitted down the stairs as quietly as she could. If it was a patient who had injured themselves wandering around she didn't want to frighten them. If it was someone else . . . well she supposed it would be best if they didn't know she was there.

The hallway at the bottom of the stairs was dimly lit and countless doors to locked cells peppered the walls. There was a nurse's station (if you could call a single desk a nurse's station) set in by the stairs. By the looks of things someone had been working there until recently. A stack of papers was bleeding single sheets across the desk and onto the floor, the old desk lamp was crooked and bent, and a chair was toppled over behind the desk. Someone had left in a hurry.

The sounds of scuffling, muffled curses, and an animal snarl drew Dawn's attention to the cell closest to the desk. Dawn peered into the little observation window and immediately threw herself backwards as if the door had burned her. What she had seen couldn't be real, it made no sense! But she _had_ seen it. And now she could hear it.

Dawn tucked herself into a forgotten alcove and tried not to listen.

"You evil witch! I swear, when he finds me he'll eat your damned useless heart!" screamed the girl with such fury and vehemence that Dawn gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. She could feel tears streak down her face unabated, flowing even more freely as the girl screamed again, this time in pain.

A desperate sobbing filled Dawn's ears, and suddenly the girl was pleading. "Please, no more. I can't even see straight anymore. Please, Gods no," she wept, her heaving sobs growing softer and softer until they quieted completely.

Dawn had both of her hands covering her mouth, trapping the hysterical screams and yells she wanted to throw out into the hallway. Her face was completely wet. It couldn't be. Rose was dead, everyone knew that. Her father had buried her when she'd . . .

Died? Killed herself? Been murdered? For a moment Dawn's head reeled. She couldn't remember. She _knew_ Rose French was dead. _Everyone_ knew that. But . . . she couldn't actually remember when she had died. The door of Rose's Hell screeched open and the two women who had been in with her emerged, the heels of the one woman's shoes cracking like gun shots on the concrete floor.

"You can't give her anymore? There's absolutely nothing else you can do to make her more . . . comfortable?" Mayor Mills asked, hesitating on her last word as if she didn't really want comfort for Rose, but something else.

The nurse sighed wearily, "I gave her four CCs; any more now will just kill her."

"Well I guess that answers that question," replied the mayor sharply, her rich voice simultaneously soft and cruel. "But I suppose that will keep her . . . calm for a while. And at least now she isn't screaming about made up monsters and fairy stories. You can go home, get some rest," the mayor called to the nurse as she clicked her way up the stairwell. "And remember, let me know if anyone comes to see her," the mayor's voice drifted down the stairwell and lingered like a bad dream.

Dawn stayed still and listened as the nurse righted her station and padded up the stairs towards freedom. The pit of Dawn's stomach fell when she heard the tumbler in the door lock before she remembered that she had a master key. She could still escape. But as for Rose . . .

Dawn pussyfooted towards Rose's cell, still half convinced that either the nurse or the mayor would come rushing down the steps, having forgotten something. Dawn placed her hands on the door lightly and peered through the window. She had been right, there was Rose French lying on a moth-eaten cot staring up at the ceiling. Tears leaked from her eyes, blazing trails across her temples and her lips moved soundlessly.

Dawn knew that face, that look. The poor girl was drugged beyond belief. Whether it was Versed or Zip, or something in between didn't really matter, for the next few hours Rose would be lost to the world. Dawn stepped away from the door slowly, tearing her eyes away from the little window.

This wasn't right. She had to tell someone.

Something dawned in her mind, someone she could go to. She had heard it in passing, always invisible to those around her no one had bothered to notice that she was eavesdropping:

"_He beat the living daylights out of Moe. And with that damned cane of his."_

"_Not Moe French! What the hell for?"_

"_I don't know All I know is that Moe said he'd been screaming about Rose, sayin' something like; 'You're her father! Your fault, not mine!' What do you think that could mean?"_

"_Haven't the foggiest. I can't imagine why Rose would mean anything to him anyway. Did he even know her?"_

That was it. In one moment Dawn had decided to visit the one man in town who scared her more than spiders. More than loneliness. More than death.

Dawn ran up the stairs, determined to visit Mr. Gold.

* * *

The sun was just dipping its toes to the horizon when Emma finally started to close up the Sheriff's Department. She was putting some files back together and debating whether or not to finish up the last of the mushroom chicken Mary Margaret had made yesterday when a familiar tapping reached her ears.

For a man who claimed to have a bum knee and depended on the aid of a cane for most of his mobility, Emma had to admit that Mr. Gold was disturbingly good at appearing out of nowhere. By the time she looked up to address him he was already at her desk. She hadn't even heard the door open.

The blonde bit down on any vitriolic comments that rose to mind at the sight of him, "Mr. Gold, what can I do for you . . . five minutes before I was about to leave?" she asked wearily. It had been such a long day. And then she saw his face.

Mr. Gold, with one very large and recent exception, had always been one of the most reserved and self-controlled men she'd ever met in her life. At this moment that man was nowhere to be seen. Oh sure, he was quiet and stood still but his face and voice told a completely different story. Behind that cunning face a storm was ripping him apart. "Emma, I'm sorry to call at this late hour, but I just heard the most distressing rumor. And I believe it's time . . . to call in that favor." His voice was tight, the antithesis of his usual dangerous purr.

Emma was almost certain that she was going to have to pick her jaw up off the floor and have Dr. Whale reattach it, it had fallen open so wide. "What . . . the hell?" she muttered softly, a frown knitting itself between her brows. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Okay, I'll bite. What do you want?"

Mr. Gold cleared his throat and looked at the cracking linoleum floor before addressing her. "I need your authority . . . to extract someone," he said quietly, meeting her gaze again. Emma felt like she was a plant withering in the sun meeting that gaze. It was overflowing with anger, malice, desperation, and determination.

"Extract someone," she repeated, her voice low and confused. _Oh hell, this is not going to end well_, she thought bitterly to herself.

Mr. Gold's gaze sharpened, zeroing in on her, "Was I unclear Miss Swan?" This, Emma could respond to with certainty. His anger may scare other people in Storybrooke shitless, but when it was directed at her she fed on it and spat it back at him.

"No Mr. Gold, you were not unclear. However as that person you want to 'extract' is not in jail, because there is _no one_ in jail, I don't see how I can be of any help to you. My authority is not all powerful," she scowled when his familiar smirk graced her with its presence.

"I am aware of that Miss Swan. But if I didn't think your services to my advantage do you really think I would have wasted my time in coming here?" he spat angrily at her.

Emma sighed, beleaguered and heavily. "All right, I'm done with this stupid circular talk. Who? Where?"

Mr. Gold straightened himself, rested both hands on his cane and looked down his nose at her. "The 'who' is not the important detail at the moment, though I will divulge it when necessary. As for the 'where': the hospital."

A cold weight settled itself in the pit of Emma's stomach, she had been right. This was not going to end well _at all_. "How the hell can I extract anyone from the hospital? Don't you need a doctor to sign off on releasing a patient?" she asked, perplexed.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing dramatically. "The patient in question does not exist. She is presumed dead. There are no records of her stay at the hospital. Yet at the hospital she remains. And before you ask, yes I have a doctor who will give written consent of her release should that be necessary."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, drawing the tendrils of anxiety and fury that had been creeping through the room back into his body. "And why does she need to be 'extracted'?" asked Emma, completely prepared to be rebuffed or brushed off. Instead he surprised her.

"I'm finally going to rescue her."

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**A/N:** Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: The Civil Wars and the number: Barton Hollow. If you don't love them already, go out and do so IMMEDIATELY.


	2. The Seventh Ingress

_**A/N:** I was going to wait a little while longer to put up this next chapter, but I just couldn't help myself. :) DISCLAIMER: I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of it's wonderfully fleshed out characters, neither do I own any of Disney's famous characters . . . I'm just borrowing them for play time!_

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_**Chapter 2: The Seventh Ingress**_

_The forest was unusually quiet as the two girls wandered through the trees. Belle was happy here in this little glen, staying with this sweet girl and her kind mother. Of all the places she had travelled to in recent months, this one was the most promising. She didn't really understand what that meant in her mind. Promising to stay? Promising to start over in? Promising to start a new life in? Well whatever it was promising in, Belle knew it would reveal itself soon. _

_Belle turned to the little blonde walking beside her. The girl's long hair was down, glinting in the sunlight and her smile was spread from ear to ear. Belle just wished that Aurora would stop dressing in greys and browns and other dull dark colors. Didn't she see how lovely she looked when she wore pink? Or better still blue? That one day Aurora had borrowed one of Belle's blue aprons her friend Philip had not been able to tear his eyes away from her._

_Aurora thought she wasn't pretty, Belle knew that with an absolute certainty. Aurora _was_ pretty . . . just not in the most conventional sense._

_Belle turned to Aurora, "Do another one." She smiled warmly at Aurora. The round little blonde brightened perceptively. Now _this_ was something Aurora could be proud of, and she was. Aurora might not think herself as pretty as other girls, and maybe she was intimidated by her own lack of confidence, but Aurora could _sing_. Aurora smiled back at Belle, opened her mouth and trilled out several high, clear notes. They continued to walk while they waited. It wasn't long before a bird sang back the same simple tune Aurora had just sung._

_A flutter of brown and black wings caught their attention. It was a humble mockingbird. The bird was so much like Aurora herself that Belle couldn't help but smile that this had been the one to answer Aurora's song. Mockingbirds looked drab and drear, but really when you looked closely at them they were _striking_. And the songs they sang . . . _

_The bird flew closer to them, perched on a dead limb, and cocked its head. It repeated the little tune and waited. Aurora sang a different tune, higher and more elaborate than the first one. The bird studied her for a moment, its head turning sharply as it tried to see her with both eyes. It opened its little black beak and sang back the tune just as Aurora had sung it._

"_I will never get tired of that," sighed Belle as the mockingbird took to the air and disappeared into the woods. "I'll miss it when I leave."_

"_Then don't! Mama Meriwether and I love having you stay. And where will you go anyway?" asked Aurora, Belle could hear the slight desperation in her voice._

_Belle inhaled deeply, the cool forest air seeming to make her stronger, bolder. "Everywhere. That's where I plan to go." Aurora envied Belle's freedom, her independence, she had said so on more than one occasion. But Belle envied something Aurora took absolutely for granted: roots. Aurora had a mother, a devoted friend, a place to call her own. _

_Belle was a dandelion seed in the wind; she floated and drifted, searching for somewhere to land and to finally take root and grow. And even though Aurora didn't know it, she and Belle had far more in common than she might have thought. There were two broken hearts walking in the forest that day._

_Suddenly the thundering of a galloping horse bounced off of tree trunks and collided with their ears. The two girls turned to see a dark grey horse barreling towards them, its rider up in his stirrups, his burgundy cloak flying behind him like a flame. Philip, Aurora's oldest and dearest friend, pulled back on the reins, forcing the mighty Sampson to come to an abrupt halt._

_Philip was good and brave, and Belle could tell that Aurora found him handsome with his tall frame, golden-brown hair, and sparkling grey eyes. She had wondered for a long time why neither of them had acted on what was between them. It had taken her a while to finally figure it out but when she had she understood all too well why it was tripping them up. It was fear, plain and simple._

"_Aurora, thank goodness I found you. Belle I'm happy to see you well but could I ask for a moment alone with Rora?" _

_Belle threw up her hands, "Be my guest, I'll just go over here . . . far over here." She sat down on a fallen tree trunk and turned her back to them. She silently applauded Philip's attempts to lower his voice, but really in a forest like this? He could have been forty paces away and she still would not have been able to un-hear what Philip (finally!) confessed to Aurora._

"_Philip, is everything alright, you don't seem well," Aurora asked worriedly. _

"_Aurora, I never knew how to say this before, but now I don't seem to have much choice," he began, gasping as he tried to contain his frantic words. "I never intended to tell you, not at first. But then we grew so close . . . Aurora I'm a prince."_

_Aurora laughed, truly laughed at him. Even her laughter was musical, it made Belle smile. "Oh Philip, I know," giggled Aurora. "What poor merchant's son has a golden bit for his horse or can read _and_ write?"_

"_You knew?" he asked in a strangled guffaw._

_Belle heard the rustle of clothing, Aurora must have pushed him. She tried to send Aurora a message from her mind; 'Stand still, see what's standing in front of you for once!'_

"_Was that why you were so upset?" asked Aurora._

"_If you knew who I was, then you knew this could never be. My parents expect me to marry to the benefit of our land," Philip blurted. At last, they were getting somewhere!_

"_What could never be? I don't understand, because you have to marry well we can't be friends?" asked Aurora, her confusion and naiveté were so endearing. Belle smiled to herself and stared out into the trees. Had _she _ever been so young in love?_

_Once. _

_Philip sighed heavily, "Aurora please. You've known that I was a prince all these years but you never even guessed at _this_?" Belle heard a muffled gasp of surprise and the swish of cloaks and skirts. She couldn't stop herself; she turned and was elated to find Aurora in Philip's arms, (finally!)being thoroughly kissed for the first time in her life. Belle bit her knuckles to hide her manic grin. If she couldn't have happiness for herself she could at least enjoy that of others._

_Aurora melted in Philip's embrace, clung to him as ivy clings to the little cottage she shared with her mother. And quite suddenly another crack broke in Belle's chipped heart. She frowned and turned away from their joy. This was neither the time, nor the place to dredge up these memories like great monsters of the deep. Yet there they were, wrapping their tentacles around her heart and mind, pulling her in._

_His smile, the true one, and his laughter. The way his heart skipped beats whenever she was near. The fact that he thought she didn't know his heart skipped beats. Her shiver when they had kissed._

_The images assaulted her, forcing the air from her lungs. Not here, not now. She had been doing so well!_

_As if one bad thought summons others simply because it doesn't want to be alone, Belle became aware that Aurora and Philip's epiphany had abruptly changed course._

_Philip's voice was cracking, "It's so unfair. I finally screw up the courage to tell you and it doesn't matter. Aurora, they're making me marry someone else. I can't do this. My heart is yours, it always has been . . . come away with me."_

_Belle heard Aurora step swiftly away from Philip, "No, you can't do this to that girl. What if she's been waiting all her life to marry you, excited for it? You said it yourself, you knew this . . . couldn't be."_

"_Aurora I've never even met her. They said this was the plan since she was born. Please, come away with me. All we need is each other, we've learned that. Please Aurora, I love you."_

_The forest was silent, poised, waiting for Aurora to answer. And in one horrifying moment, Belle realized exactly what words were about to be uttered from the girl. "Philip, you're going to get on Sampson, and you're going to ride back to your home and marry that girl. You are not so selfish that you would deprive your people of their heir by disappearing, and you are not so without honor that you would shame this girl by running off with me." _

_Belle put a hand to her mouth, her heart breaking for her friend. "Leave here and never come back. Never see me again," Aurora's voice was soft, faint, the music was gone._

_Her heart was shattering and the forest rang with it, "You _don't _love me, and I _don't _love you."_

_Belle turned at last to see Philip throw himself onto Sampson's back and tear down the path . . . away from Aurora. Away from true love._

_Aurora sank to the ground, her knees clearly no longer able to hold up her broken heart. Belle leapt from her perch and hurtled to her friend, taking her in her arms and rocking her like a child. They had been so close._

_Aurora had buried her face in Belle's shoulder, both hands over her mouth as she tried in vain to contain her hollow wails. Words came to Belle's mouth, unbidden, as she attempted to comfort her friend. "Oh Rora this isn't the end. I know you'll be together. I could feel it. Take matters into your own hands, win your prince," Belle soothed._

_Aurora stopped crying and looked at Belle angrily. She pushed Belle away savagely. "How can you sit there and give _me_ advice when you won't even follow it for yourself! Hypocrite!"_

"_What?" stuttered Belle, confused and yet . . . No, Aurora had seen it in Belle's face. Belle knew _exactly _what Aurora was talking about._

_Aurora wiped her face on her sleeve and pulled herself to her feet. "You're so in love you can barely see straight, but I don't see you going after _your_ prince charming. How can you tell me to take matters into my own hands when you're running scared from love just like me?" spat Aurora._

_Belle glared at Aurora, "You have no idea what I've done! I _did_ take matters into my own hands. He didn't want me. I'm not running from love, I'm moving on."_

"_Liar! I can see it in your eyes sometimes, you think about him and there it is; he loves you too. He loves you as much as you love him, and yet you won't 'win' him back. If I were you, what would you tell me to do?" Aurora asked, her anger starting to fizzle away, replaced by frustration._

_Belle looked at the earth thoughtfully, "I'd tell you . . . I'd tell you . . ." Something dawned in Belle's mind. She had been searching for home. But no matter where she had gone, no matter how nice a place it was, it was never home. Home was something more than just a house or a place to live. A stray thought floated before her eyes, something her father had said to her: '_Home is where . . ._'_

"_Go home," Belle said quietly._

"_What?"_

"_Go home," she repeated, only a fraction louder. "Go home, I have to go home!"_

_Aurora shook her head, confused, "You're going back to your father's castle? But I thought he—"_

"_No, no that's not home," said Belle forcefully. "That will never be home again, not after everything he put me through." A shiver ran down her spine and she absently touched a scar that ran along her shoulder. That wasn't home._

"_Well then where's home?"_

_Belle looked up at Aurora and smiled brightly, brighter than she had smiled since she had left. "Rora, I mean it. You and Philip, you two were so meant for each other that I can't believe it's taken you this long to see it. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. I have to go."_

"_Wait, Belle! Where are you going?"_

"_Home!" called Belle as she took a path that lead deep into the forest._

"_Where's home?" asked Aurora again, even more loudly._

"_Where the heart is!" Belle disappeared into the forest. She never looked back._

* * *

_He had sworn (quite colorfully really) that he would never deal with fairies. Ever. And yet here he stood, lounging against the hearth of a disguised fairy's home. He let his thoughts tumble around in his head until he was able to grab the one that reminded him just why he had chosen to deal with this one. Oh yes, she's _desperate_._

_He smirked, waiting for her to turn around and jump in fear at him having appeared from nowhere in her home. He was quite put out when she addressed him without turning. "You know that would be more frightening if you didn't use it every single time you answered a summons."_

_Hang on, he knew that voice! Elated, Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands and giggled shrilly. "My, my, if it isn't little Meriwether!" He hopped in place when she turned to reveal that bland little face. Oh he just _loved_ being right! He bowed elaborately for her, sarcasm in every stretch of his body. "What can the humble Dark One do for such an indomitable fairy . . . that she cannot do for herself?" he grinned and wagged a dark finger at the fairy._

_Rumple had to admit, the fairy's glamour was impressive. Her wings were nowhere to be seen, her usual dark hair was streaked with grey, and wrinkles softened her cherubic face. Oh this was just lovely, she looked _old_! He was having a hard time containing himself, this was just too rich._

_Meriwether sighed, "Surely you know what that horrid witch did to little Princess Aurora? You know all of the dark gossip."_

"_Ah yes, that was so long ago though. What does it matter?" asked Rumpelstiltskin as he draped himself on a wooden chair by the hearth. His steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them._

_Meriwether scowled impressively at the imp. "The girl is turning twenty. Tomorrow. Rumpelstiltskin, I am at a complete loss. Please," pleaded the fairy desperately._

_Rumple glanced out the window. A girl with long, lustrous blonde hair and a lushly curved figure lay out on a patch of grass, staring forlornly at the trees overhead. "She seems a little . . . depressed," he spat out the last word, biting back the one he had really wanted to use. Stop, stop! Don't go there, deals to take, gold to make, his wheel to spin . . . and children to skin. Damn!_

_She was dead and gone and there was nothing he could do about it now. He saw her eyes, her cheerful, smiling, bright blue eyes. Her soft laugh at one of his weaker jests. How warm her hands had felt on his face. Her lips . . . _

_STOP!_

"_Broken hearted is more like it," sighed Meriwether. They both looked to the window; faint strains of music were creeping through the cracks of the little cottage. Aurora was singing, drawing drab little mockingbirds to her left and right._

"_So I see you've told her about her joy filled birthday," giggled Rumpelstiltskin._

_The fairy shook her head, "That's just it. I haven't said a word. I think she's just lonely since her friend left."_

"_Well that is sad," he pouted. "Now, what can I do for you? Time is wasting and her birthday isn't going to wait much longer," he grinned viciously at Meriwether._

_The fairy sat down heavily in a chair across from him. His smile grew wider when he saw her scoot her chair further from him. He really was a monster. Had there ever really been any doubt?_

_Once._

"_Well dearie, as it seems you've forgotten, curses such as this are . . . impossible to prevent. It lays in wait for its victim," he waved a long fingered hand at the girl out on the grass. "And since she isn't dead yet, clearly it hasn't fulfilled," he grinned savagely. "I assume you have a theory?"_

_Meriwether breathed deeply, a shuddering, _old_ breath. "Actually yes, but as it deals with dark magic I am . . . unable to cast it. I know you can't lift it . . . but you can _change_ it," she leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles stuck out bone white._

_Rumpelstiltskin leapt from his chair and did a dancer's hop, he snapped his fingers at Meriwether and giggled, "Oh now we're cooking with fire, dearie. Right you are, I can change the little lamb's fate. But . . ."_

"_You have a price, I know," sighed Meriwether wearily._

"_Ah, ah, ah," chided Rumple as he waggled a finger at her. Oh he was enjoying this. Finally, something to lord over those interfering little flies! "Not just any price. _The_ price. You know what I want, dearie. Are you willing to pay?"_

_She didn't answer; he saw the muscles in her jaw working furiously. Instead, she rose slowly from her seat and went to a small, humbly carved box sitting on the windowsill. The old fairy gripped the box tightly and brought it to him. She set it gently in his eagerly waiting hands then slumped, defeated into her chair again._

"_There, you have them. Now do what you can to save her . . . please," she pleaded. There were tears in her eyes, and it disturbed him that he actually felt something at the sight of them. What was it? Empathy? Remorse? He shook his head and grinned, no point in troubling himself over such little trifles._

_He didn't open the box; he knew that it contained what he wanted. The box hummed with contained magic. Delicious. "Trouble not your mind with worry anymore, dearie. Your little songbird will be safe as can be. But . . ." He rose and turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, "She'll still need saving. Keep that in mind. And it _won't_ be easy."_

_He giggled gleefully and swept from the house in a whirl of color, space, and time. He stood once more in the entry hall of the Dark Castle, his _humble_ abode. He pranced happily to his cabinet, opened the giant glass doors and set the crudely carved box on a shelf. He opened it, just once before he locked it away with his other treasures. The memory of that glittering light bathing his face would entertain him for hours the rest of the evening, he was certain of it. _

_He turned to stalk off to his chambers, a nap forefront in his mind, when he stopped. He couldn't move past. Not without . . . _

_He ran a finger delicately along the lip of a dainty cup, a chip on one side._

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Well now you all know! I've always loved Aurora and Philip, I still walk around singing her melismas and songs. Thank you so much to all of you who have shown interest in this story! Thank you also to JuneIsAMonth18 for your lovely comment. I encourage all of you to leave a comment, even if it's just to say hello or that you're reading this. It's nice to know how many people are following this story, it helps move me along, makes me want to finish this beast! Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: Louisa John Krol and the number: Alabaster. I just love the falling and floating melodies that abound in this song. Very bird like and light, like Aurora I think._


	3. Take It All

**A/N: **Well! That was quite the season finale eh? I got a little discouraged what with all that went down in this FANTABULOUS episode (No fears, I won't spoil it for those that haven't seen it yet). However! I'm going to soldier on, because I'm having too much fun writing this! DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon a Time and the fabulously fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for playtime!

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**Chapter 3: Take It All**

Mr. Gold found the strange assembly he was now part of quite comical. An ENT Doctor who kept jumping at shadows, a cross blonde cop, and a crippled old man; who would have ever thought? They were slowly making their way down a set of nearly forgotten stairs towards her prison and, with any luck, his freedom.

A thin and haggard nurse was seated at an antiquated desk, scowling at them viciously. "What on earth is the meaning of this?" she snapped as she stood and braced her hands on the desk. Emma made a beeline for her, brandishing papers and her badge with a fierce conviction. Mr. Gold smirked at them; he knew he had been right to bring her into this. Once she had heard all that Dawn had seen of this patient's abuse . . . the hounds of war had bade and Emma had answered.

He flinched when he felt a hand grasp his arm. Dawn leaned and pointed at the door directly in front of them. "She's in there. Now I'm going to open the door slowly and enter while you—"

"No, no dearie. I'll be going in to fetch her. And you will wait out here for us," he said firmly. He met her frown with a stern grin, "I understand you think her unstable. She well may be, especially after all she's been through. But she has a right . . . to take some anger out on me."

"But, Mr. Gold—" she began, concern written deeply in her face. He held up a hand and she silenced immediately.

He let out a great sigh and gathered his resolve. Soon he would learn, soon he would see. "You will close the door after me and open it only when I ask you to. No sooner, dearie."

"This is not a smart idea," Dawn grumbled as she opened the door to the cell slowly.

As he limped through the door his breath caught on the brambles surrounding his battered heart. She looked such the worse for wear lying on that bare cot, but there she was. She was asleep, or so he thought. She shifted on her cot and turned her face to the door. She was breathing, and she was blinking, and she was . . . _alive_.

"All this time . . . I thought you were dead." His voice hadn't wavered, no audible tell of the relief, joy, love, and fear he felt in this moment, yet tears ran silently down his face.

"I very nearly was," she said softly, her voice cracking with disuse. She wore only a hospital gown, no shoes or socks, no robe to fend off the chill rolling through this hell of an asylum. A hot new wave of anger crashed into him, clouding his vision for a moment. The _cruelty_ she had endured . . . He shook his head and took a tentative step towards her.

"Do you know me anymore?" he asked quietly. He leaned even more heavily on his cane as he limped towards her. The click of his cane echoed around the room. The door shut resolutely behind him. Now they were truly alone. He waited for her to unleash her anger and resentment on him . . . violently.

He deserved it, he _knew_ that.

She regarded him for a moment, as if he were a book she knew she had read before yet she couldn't remember the story. "Come closer," she rasped. He obliged her slowly dragging his body closer to hers on the cot. She raised herself to sit up, all the better to see him. She blinked at him, and he noticed how cloudy her eyes were. He wondered how she could see at all.

"You look different this time," she said cryptically as she scratched her scalp through her unruly mass of brown curls.

"This time, dearie?" he asked slowly. She was speaking to him and she wasn't screaming or crying, he wanted to keep her this way.

She nodded, "Whenever you come to visit me you look like you. You don't look like you this time. I . . . I think I like it."

It took him more strength than he thought he had to kneel by her cot and place his hand to her cheek. She was cold and clammy, she leaned her face into his hand drawing heat right into her body. Slowly her breathing became less beleaguered. "How often do I visit you, dearie?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm," she thought, the vibrations of her voice shivering through his hand into his heart. "Almost every time those _bitches_ give me that medicine," she spat the word 'bitches' as though it burned her tongue to keep it in her mouth any longer than she needed to. "So I should say quite often. But you never touch me, and you never talk to me," she stared deeply into his eyes and frowned slightly.

"Your eyes are so different, I'm not so sure that you _are_ you," she finally mused. Her eyelids began to flicker closed, she was fading away. He had to keep her awake. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't carry her in his arms again, his damn knee simply wouldn't allow it.

"And if I _am_ me, dearie what name would you call me by?" he asked softly, hoping, praying, _wishing_ . . .

She opened her eyes again, once again, _just for him_. She smiled softly, her blue eyes glittering faintly, "Rumpelstiltskin, what else?"

Her eyes seemed to be as heavy as two bricks the way she fought to keep them open. "Oh, my Belle," he whispered softly and leaned his forehead to hers. He pulled away from her after a thousand happier heartbeats, sat back on his heels and called to the door, "Alright Doctor, I think we'll be needing your assistance now."

He fought his way to his feet, waging war with his damned knee, as Dawn and Emma rushed into the room. Dawn brandished her stethoscope and a wide range of necessary health checks while Emma dragged Belle unsteadily to her feet. "This girl is light as a feather, don't they feed patients in this hospital?" groused Emma.

"Just hold her steady, I have to get these shoes on her feet," mumbled Dawn as she assaulted Belle's feet with slip-on footwear.

Mr. Gold exited the cell slowly, his eyes boring into the cold nurse. He grinned happily when he saw her shiver. "Rest assured, poppet I _will_ make your life nearly as miserable as you've made hers," he whispered delicately. His soft, even tone had the desired effect, the pale nurse turned sheet white. "The only thing that will keep me from destroying you completely is that I know you were following orders," he grinned pleasantly at her and he swore she was near to fainting away.

The three women emerged from Belle's dungeon cell, the brunette depending heavily on the two blondes to keep her from becoming a puddle on the floor. "Alright Mr. Gold, now where to?" asked Emma grumpily. "Regina's her emergency contact, like half of this freaking town, but since she's the one who signed Rose in here, I assume we can't take her there," huffed Emma as she readjusted Belle's arm over her shoulder.

Ah, yes. Her name was Rose here. Her name _had_ to be Rose. He must remember that. "Home dearie. We're taking her home," he answered lowly. That wretched nurse was attempting to drop some eaves.

"Home? Do you mean her father's? Because he co-signed her in here," grunted Dawn under the weight of _Rose_'s shoulder.

"No, no," he snapped. If this was his Belle, and the queen had told him the truth about the way her father had treated her . . . he couldn't let her go there. She truly would go mad. He breathed deeply and leaned his weight and cares onto his cane, his knuckles white against its gold handle. "Her home is with me."

* * *

The world was slowly starting to put itself back together, piece by blurry piece. That was, without a doubt the strangest and most wonderful dream she had ever had during her . . . captivity. Yes, let's call it _captivity_ today. That made it sound less heinous than it truly was.

For the first time in quite a while Belle felt relaxed, at peace. She stretched languidly, her feet tangling in the blankets on the bed. No, that couldn't be right. She should be lying on her bare cot, not a soft bed. She must still be dreaming. She screwed her eyes tight and willed herself awake.

This method usually worked for Belle, she had spent a good deal of time mastering her lucid dreaming. If any dream became particularly disturbing she could usually wake herself from it quite easily. But this time when she finished concentrating and breathed in deeply a thought crossed her mind that this might not actually be a dream.

She inhaled the scents of cedar, dust, and cotton. These scents did not belong in her cement tomb. They belonged somewhere else. Therefore, if she could smell a place that was not her prison . . . then she must be someplace else!

Her eyes popped open and the room spun for a moment, her vision still a little hazy. Though now couldn't tell if it was from her medicine or a long awaited good night's sleep. Belle rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up. The world still teetered on a precipice and she didn't want to knock it off kilter. She blinked away the fog at last and lo! Behold, she _was_ someplace else!

Gods be praised, even if it would only be for a moment, she was truly gone from that horrible Hell. Her eyes were trying to cry but she savagely wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn't want anything to mar her vision of this new Heaven.

The room was dark wood, and cluttered beyond belief, a pathway winding from the hardwood door to the comfortably rumpled bed. It appeared that this room was not usually occupied by the living and had hastily been cleared to make room for her. There was a heavy dresser with what was probably a large mirror under a sheet. And surrounding the dresser and bed were chairs, a rocking horse, and a set of old-skinned drums.

On a hat stand by the window was a great white hat with flowers and feathers. Hanging beside it was a moth-eaten cloak made of a million colorful squares stitched together. There was a grandfather clock with a missing hand, great wooden trunks, clothes, blankets, and other oddments glittering and hiding away like children playing hide and seek. The room itself was unfamiliar to her, but the clutter was not. This might not be the Dark Castle, but she knew of only one person who would create such a mess.

Belle slipped from beneath the blankets and sheets on the bed and put her socked feet on the path between the bed and the door. She paused and stared at the knobbly woolen socks on her feet, wiggling her toes and reveling in the warmth. It dawned on her that her toes were not the only parts of her that were warm.

She plucked at the soft grey pants and the thin cotton shirt. Belle ran her fingers through her hair, it wasn't clean, but someone had dragged a brush through her difficult curls. She frowned; it had been so long since someone had cared for her that she had almost forgotten what it was like. To be warm . . . to be safe.

Belle placed her weight, a tad unsteadily at first, on her feet and slowly made her way across the wooden floor. The socks were warm, yes, but they were also treacherous. After slipping and skating cautiously to the door frame Belle stopped, leaned against its surety and sadly removed the socks. She had anticipated the bite of the cold floor and was pleasantly surprised when it never appeared. This someplace else was far warmer than her grey Hell.

Dust motes flitted and glittered about through odd shafts of light littering the long hallway. As Belle peered into some of the rooms, she found the long drapes drawn at all the windows. They omitted all but the most persistent of sunrays. She smiled sadly to herself, if this was the man she had known, he apparently had not changed too much.

She slowly made her way down the stairs, trying with all her might to barely touch the stairs, she didn't want to hear them creak like her bones did. When she alighted in the foyer she found even more trinkets, and baubles, and whirligigs. All of it was covered with a fine layer of dust. It appeared a caretaker was needed once more.

A soft rustling was coming from the next room over. Her sharp ears picked up the whisper of paper. If there was one thing that had never betrayed Belle, it was literature. Someone was _reading_.

She slowly rounded the corner to find herself in an antiquated kitchen. It was small and the appliances all looked as though they hadn't been touched in years. The wooden floor was scuffed and the sink held a large pile of soiled dishes. The dining set had clearly seen better days, chips in its table legs and chairs missing ribs in their backs.

The man seated at the table looked as though he has seen better days as well.

He was careworn; lines riddled his face and grey streaked lightly through his long brown hair. And he was staring at her. He had looked up from his large paper pamphlet the moment she had appeared in the doorway, his features kept as bland as could be belying no emotion. A cane with a fine gold handle leaned precariously against the edge of the table. The moment her eyes fell on it the man snatched it up and held its handle tightly.

He did not rise, he did not speak, he did not look away. Belle took this moment of hesitation to study him further. His face was so familiar and yet it was strikingly different; thin and sharp like a quip. But it was his eyes that truly arrested her. They were dark as sloes and clear as water all at once. They glittered with intelligence and fire, so unlike and yet exactly the same as she remembered them. What was gone from then she could not say, it was as though she were seeing his eyes for the first time.

With a jolt she realized that she was.

"So this is the real you, then," she said slowly.

His mouth quirked, giving the hint of a wry smile, "Is it, dearie?"

Suddenly Belle felt her heart being pulled in several directions at once. Wave after wave of conflicting emotion battered her on all sides. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, pulling her thoughts back inside. "Yes," she said firmly as she sat down heavily on an old chair.

Rumpelstiltskin looked away from her pointedly and folded his flimsy papers with deliberation. "Dearie, I—"

"Belle. For Gods' sakes Rumple call me Belle," she snapped harshly, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed deeply above them.

He nodded slowly and it seemed to take him a great effort to finally bring her name to his lips, "B-belle, I owe you no small favor . . . having failed you so completely before. I understand if you wish to go elsewhere, but while you desire it to be so . . . you may call this your h-home." His voice was as she remembered it from her dream, deeper than before, and smooth as cream. Then she remembered that it hadn't been a dream. He had come for her.

"Yes, you did fail me, but not as much as you failed yourself. You know now that I'm right," she said flatly. He could not meet her gaze . . . the Dark One unable to meet a mere woman's eyes? But here he was no longer the Dark One. Here he was something else entirely, though no less dangerous by far.

Belle sighed heavily. "I told you so many times in that horrible stone pit that I don't care about what went wrong anymore. But now I can finally tell you so that you can hear it. Rumpelstiltskin, as treacherous and fickle as you are . . . were . . . are, I was waylaid . . ." she swallowed down her fear and anger as it rose into her mouth.

"Waylaid?" he asked softly, confused by her abrupt silence. He looked at her and she held his familiar and yet strange gaze unflinchingly.

"Yes waylaid," she continued. She grimaced but pushed herself over the edge to continue. "Rumple I was coming back to you, whether you wanted me or not. I was always coming back to you, even if I had to wade through Hell to get to you."

"It seems you've done just that," he smiled painfully, truly it was a grimace. He was having a harder time than she had anticipated swallowing her hard truths.

"Who says I'm done wading?"

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, if it's not clearly apparent, I'm ignoring pretty much EVERYTHING that went down tonight. Haha, and to be fair I wrote this before the episode aired. So I want to thank Moonspring for your wonderful comment. I'm honored that you chose my story to leave a note on, I appreciate it more than you can ever imagine. As for the rest of you reading (and I know there's quite a few of you given the amount of faves and alerts this story has brought in) stop by and say hello, I'd love to hear what you're digging and maybe not digging in the story! Thanks so much everyone for your outpouring of support. Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: Adele and the number: 21. (HA! That actually kind of worked this time. Yay for albums with numbers as their titles!)


	4. Green Finch and Linnet Bird

_**A/N: **__Well, here's the last of my pre-written chapters. Now I'm going to be flying by the seat of my pants for the rest of the story. Not gonna lie, I'm totally intimidated. Haha. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of the fabulously fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for play time!_

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_**Green Finch and Linnet Bird**_

_This had to be a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Yes, a nightmare was a far more fitting term for what Aurora had suddenly found herself in. Her head was still reeling from their journey through the Enchanted Forest and she couldn't seem to make the world stop spinning. She couldn't be a princess. She _couldn't_._

_Aurora was seated at a lovely vanity, its edges scrolled and gilded, the mirror brighter than a smooth lake surface. Of course, it was terribly difficult to see the piece of furniture's beauty when her cheek lay flat against its surface and her eyes were screwed shut._

_Mama Meriwether was seated beside her on a tuffet and was patiently brushing out her hair despite the odd angle of her head. No she couldn't call her that anymore! She had met her real mother, a kind and beautiful woman who had wept freely when Aurora was presented. And she had a father as well, a handsome man with silver in his golden coin hair. A new mother and father all in one day._

_And tomorrow . . . a new husband._

_She had chosen part of this path, she supposed. What would her life have been had she run away with Philip? Good, sweet Philip who had been willing to throw everything to the wind so long as he could be with her. And she had spit in his face._

_She couldn't weep, she simply could not. There were not enough tears in all the world to slake her hunger for grief. So what was the point in shedding a single tear if it was really only a raindrop in the ocean of regret? She stared at the tapestries hanging on the walls of the room that would be hers for only a night._

_Laughter bubbled up her throat and spilled out like bright glass pebbles on the vanity as she thought of the irony of it all. To be reunited with her parents only to leave them as soon as she was given them to go away with yet another stranger. _

_And then the laughter couldn't stop. It came in great heaving guffaws that ripped through her mouth, chapping her lips. Meriwether the fairy (yet another new revelation) threw the brush aside and gathered Aurora in her arms, holding her tightly as a mother should. Aurora gulped air greedily, trying to stifle her hysterical laughter and keep herself from falling apart all together._

"_Oh Rora, my little songbird. I'm so sorry. I should never have kept this from you," Meriwether's voice trembled dangerously. If she began to cry Aurora knew that there would be no turning back, she would cry herself out until she was nothing but a dried, empty husk. "I thought I was doing right by you, I didn't want you to bear this burden!"_

_Aurora clung to her foster mother like a rope holds to a ship's anchor. But suddenly her anchor was cracked and falling apart. Everything she knew, everything she had believed . . . gone in one horrifying instant._

_The two women held each other like that for many long, ragged breaths, unable to let go of what they had known for nearly twenty years. Slowly Rora pulled away. "Ma—Meriwether, don't blame yourself for this. You thought you were doing what was best for me. I could _never_ blame you for that," she kissed her aged foster mother tenderly on the cheek. "Can you leave me for a moment? . . . I just need to gather myself together again. We've weathered so much together already, I'm sure I can ride this storm out alone," she said softly._

_Meriwether nodded, kissed Rora on the forehead and softly left this newfound, unwilling princess to her own battered thoughts. Oddly, though she was now alone, Aurora found the room stifling. The heavy tapestries drew heat into the castle room like a candle draws moths into a home. Her beautiful blue dress was slowly strangling her, hugging her around the middle so tightly that she was sure that not even a scrap of paper could fit between the dress and her skin. She was dying; slowly this place was killing her._

_She was a beautiful songbird . . . trapped in a cage. She gathered her skirts in her damp fists and swept from the room. She hurled herself down corridor after corridor, trying to lose herself in this maze of a castle. Quite suddenly she found herself climbing a sharply twisting staircase. She wound, and wound, and wound up into a tower, unsure what she would do when she reached its height._

_Perhaps the songbird could teach herself to fly._

_As Aurora neared the tower's acme strange fluttering sounds punctured with a light tap every so often reached her ears. She slowed, trying to determine what it was. Perplexed she stepped onto the landing and stared in awe at the strange scene before her._

_And old woman with flyaway grey hair and a content smile was dropping a sharp little spindle, spinning dyed blue wool into a fine blue thread. The combed and clumped ball of wool never seemed to diminish in her hand, though the thread was layering thicker and thicker on the spindle with its descent._

_Aurora stood, entranced, captured by the continuous spinning of the spindle and the woman's soft humming. Never looking away from her spinning, the old woman called out to the new princess. "Well now pretty, what brings you to my humble spinning room?"_

"_Oh, I'm sorry to stare—"_

"_You'll have to come closer, pretty. My ears are not what they once were," called the old woman, her voice louder than necessary. She grinned at Aurora, baring proudly, her few remaining teeth. "Now, what can Gramma do for you, pretty?" asked the old woman brightly._

_Aurora shrugged, tossing her long blonde hair in confusion. "Could I just watch you spin for a while Gramma? It's so soothing. I'm beginning to . . . to forget," Aurora said quietly._

"_Oh, little pretty, you can stay with Gramma as long as you wish! But I'll ask for a payment," said the old women mischievously. Her tone made Aurora smile, it was as if they were far away._

_Aurora dipped a small curtsy for the old woman, "I'll pay your tithe gladly, Gramma."_

"_Sing me a tune, pretty dear. It's so very quiet up here all on my own," said the old woman, smiling so openly at Aurora that she couldn't help but warm to the old hag's wizened face._

"_Done!" agreed Aurora. Without even thinking she opened her mouth and from it came a song of birds. Birds like her. Birds who sang, even though they were shut away forever behind bars. Somehow they found the joy to keep singing. If they could, then so could she._

_There were tears in the old woman's eyes as the last notes wavered and floated away out of the battlement window. "Oh pretty, pretty birdy. That was far and away the sweetest sad thing I ever have heard!" Taken by a moment of glee the old woman clapped her hands together in applause. The thread she had so carefully been spinning snapped like a greenwood twig and the spindle went flying across the tower's stone floor._

"_Oh Gramma, your fine thread!" commiserated Rora as she rushed to catch it before it disappeared down the twisting stairwell._

"_Pretty birdy, don't worry yourself with the thread—"_

_As Aurora's hand closed around the spindle she realized the tip was far sharper than she had first thought it. It bit into her palm, drawing a tiny ribbon of blood that dripped sluggishly on the floor. Suddenly _she_ was the one spinning._

"—_It was the spindle that you should have fretted over," cackled the old woman viciously. _

_The world around Aurora was growing in size, her dress was drowning her and the doorway rose high as the castle itself. She tried to cry out, but found her voice was limited to whistles, trills, and clicks. And above her were bars, to the right, left and all around. _

_The old woman screeched, hurting Aurora's now sensitive little ears. The old woman whirled her cloak about herself, suddenly revealing a far more sinister countenance. Here stood an old granny no longer, but a dark witch with shining golden curls, long flowing purple dress, a horned crown, and blackness in her heart._

"_No! No! She's supposed to be _dead_!" shrieked the dark woman hysterically. "Rumpelstiltskin I can smell your stink of magic all over this!" cried the witch._

_Out of the corner of one eye, Aurora saw a man leaning against the wall who had _not_ been there a moment before. He was an unsettling creature with his mottled green and golden skin, and his cloudy dark eyes. "Now, now, there's no need to shout," he giggled like a deranged child. "Don't you think this could be . . . fortuitous to you, Maleficent? After all, now you have a true bargaining chip," he grinned wickedly at the witch, Maleficent. "No one would have wanted to deal with you if she was already dead," he hopped a little and clapped his hands._

_Maleficent eyed Rumplestiltskin shrewdly, "Bargaining chip? Hmm. With her dead I would have only gotten their kingdom, but now I suppose . . ."_

"_Still so limited in vision I see!" giggled Rumpelstiltskin, waving his hands fluidly. "What price do you think fine Prince Philip would pay to save his betrothed from your sinister clutches?" he asked, his wicked smile sending a dagger of fear through Aurora's tiny heart._

_Philip? Philip had been her husband to be? If she could laugh, she would have. Instead she found herself trilling and screeching in fear at the two villains' faces. Gods above, let Philip never find out about this. Gods in heaven keep him out of these monsters' clutches!_

_Maleficent grinned at Rumpelstiltskin and picked up Aurora's little cage. "Perhaps I should thank you, Rumple. This is turning out far better than I expected!" she gloated. With a flourish, the imp vanished from the tower. Maleficent raised the cage to her face and smiled sweetly at Aurora._

_Rora beat her wings with a fury, thrusting her feathered breast against the bars of the cage, swiping at Maleficent through the bars with her little claws and beak. "Now, now pretty. Keep that up and I won't feed you. Hmm, I think you look rather lonely. Let me take you to some new friends," the witch taunted._

_Aurora made her objections as loud as her little throat could cry them. Maleficent only laughed at her as they suddenly appeared in a room filled with hundreds of birds in cages just like hers. Maleficent put Aurora's cage down on a table between a cardinal and a blue bird and swept from the room, slamming the door behind her._

_Now Aurora was well and truly a bird locked in a cage . . . fussing, dreaming, and screaming._

* * *

Dawn swallowed heavily before she knocked resolutely on the imposing front door. The stained glass reflected the bright sunlight back into her eyes, forcing her to squint painfully, only to have the light abruptly stolen from her vision when the door swung open. She was struck momentarily blind, adding to her anxiety. She could hear him speaking to her but she couldn't see him. That made her profoundly nervous.

"Good day to you Dr. Thornhill. I trust you're here to check in on my guest?" asked Mr. Gold smoothly.

Dawn blinked rapidly, attempting to banish the splotches of light from her vision. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, fiddling, as she screwed her courage to the sticking place and stepped over his threshold. "Yes, Mr. Gold. I'll admit that my expertise is localized to one area of the body, but I believe I'm proficient enough to make sure she isn't dying from lack of care now and . . ." She hesitated, unsure how to breach this next topic of Rose French's health.

"And make sure she is not completely off her rocker. Does that just about do it doctor?" asked Mr. Gold slyly. Now that Dawn was able to see adequately she glared reproachfully at him before surveying the environment Rose was being rehabilitated in.

Dawn had heard that Mr. Gold was a collector of anything and everything, but . . . this was ridiculous! The man was a veritable magpie, shiny baubles hidden in cabinets and curios and other larger oddments littered the front room. She was certain that they spilled out into every room of the house.

She wasn't wrong. As Mr. Gold led her through the downstairs to a dimly lit, yet comfortable sitting room, Dawn saw treasures and junk cohabiting with each other on every available shelf and mantle space. This room was not quite so full of knickknacks, but it was filled to the brim with _books_. Piles of books, forming a labyrinth in miniature, wove around the comfortable antique furniture.

Rose was lounging in a wingback chair with a deliciously old looking book, her feet propped on an old tuffet that looked oddly familiar to Dawn, though she couldn't place it. An old blanket was sprawled at Rose's legs and a nearly empty cup of tea sat at her elbow on a spindly side table.

"Miss French, you have a visitor," said Mr. Gold in a stiff voice. Dawn looked to the old pawnbroker and found his body was as still and stiff as an oak plank. Rose seemed to ignore him, as absorbed in her book as she had been before Dawn and Mr. Gold had entered.

"Rose, dear—" he tried again.

The bright brunette never looked up from her book, but raised a finger to shush him. Dawn's eyebrows practically flew up her forehead in shock. Someone who would actually dare to act so pertinent to Mr. Gold? And she was still _alive_?

_Good lord this girl has spunk_, thought Dawn ruefully to herself. Rose placed a scrap of ribbon along the inner crease of the open page and shut the book decisively at last before she looked up and smiled wanly.

"I'm sorry Au—doctor, I just had to reach the end of that page," said Rose as she put the book aside and took the blanket from her legs. She was still wearing the sweats and shirt that Emma and Dawn had wrestled her into after bringing her to Mr. Gold's two days before, yet they looked clean.

"That's alright Miss French, I hate being in suspense too," Dawn smiled warmly at the blue-eyed beauty, inviting her to relax. "And you can call me Dawn, if that makes you more comfortable."

Rose nodded, "And you can call me . . . Rose, no reason for formality here." She stumbled over her name, making Dawn narrow her gaze in suspicion. Dawn slowly approached Rose, leaving Mr. Gold to lean heavily on the door jamb. He had not attempted to speak once Rose had shushed him, and his silence was making Dawn nervous. He simply stood, hands resting gently on his cane, watching the slight brunette.

Dawn focused on the girl and held her hand out to the brunette. Without hesitation Rose placed her hand in Dawn's, comfortable and trusting. Deftly Dawn turned Rose's hand to place her fingers at Rose's wrist, counting her pulse rate.

Dawn squinted in the dimness of the room, trying to count the seconds that passed on her watch, but failing miserably. She looked up to the curtained windows and frowned. She moved to the windows, the hair at the nape of her neck rising as she felt Mr. Gold's sharp gaze follow her. "I can't see the nose in front of my face it's so dark in here. Do you mind if I—?"

Mr. Gold had started when he saw her destination, shivered when he saw her reach for the heavy drapes. "No, Dawn. Don't," called Rose softly. Dawn turned to watch Rose turn on a second floor lamp by her comfortable chair. Rose looked pointedly at Mr. Gold who returned her stare evenly. "We're not there, just yet."

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**A/N:** Okay, okay. I know Aurora is technically the "Sleeping Beauty," however I wanted to really make her stand out and twist her story like Horowitz and Kitsis do so well in the show. I have crossed her story with another classic Grimm fairy tale. If you recognize it, awesome! But please, don't spoil it for everyone else. It's definitely one of the more obscure stories. I want to thank all of you wonderful readers who have favorited and added alerts to this story, I'm glad you're diggin' this! And I want to say thank you to: mht224, pookispeer, SqueakyDolphin6, Lind, and Chibi Tsuki Hikari. Your reviews mean absolutely the world to me! I love hearing from you all, it really makes this process even more fun! Today's chapter was brought to you by the letter: Stephen Sondheim, and the number: Sweeney Todd. I'm pretty sure I had Sarah Rice's performance of Johanna in my mind when I chose this one. But really when it comes to this one, it's the song and not necessarily who sings it that was important.


	5. I'll Try

**A/N: **Boy, oh boy this chapter was a bear. It went through so many rewrites that I'm a little dizzy! But I think it's where it needs to be. Onward and upward, I say! DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon a Time or the wonderfully fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for playtime.

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**I'll Try**

"Now Dawn, listen. I've tried to head her off, but knowing her and her resources she'll probably land on your doorstep sometime soon," cautioned the Sheriff. Dawn readjusted the phone between her shoulder and ear as she lugged Katherine's last suitcases down the hall.

Dawn sighed; she really had no desire to see Mayor Mills any time soon . . . or perhaps ever again. She didn't think she would ever forget the way she had savored Rose's obvious pain and discomfort. "Thanks for the heads up Sheriff. And really, I knew this was going to happen, I had to sign her release form. And it'll probably be sooner rather than later," oh lord this was not how she wanted to welcome Katherine to her home, with drama and secrets.

"I'm sorry Doc, I know this is the worst time ever for the witch to start off on her broom. How is Katherine by the way?" asked Emma.

Dawn peered into Katherine's room as surreptitiously as she could. The tall, thin, pretty blonde was standing by the window in her new room, her fingers wrapped tightly around a cup of tea. She spotted Dawn out of the corner of her eye and waved her into the room. Dawn grinned at her friend, "You know she's only been out of the hospital for a couple of days, but already she's looking so much better."

Katherine pointed at the phone clutched at Dawn's shoulder. Dawn mouthed 'the Sheriff,' as she put down Katherine's last bags by the foot of her bed. She hoped her friend would like it here. Dawn had picked sunflowers for her inspiration in this room. The walls were so pale a yellow that you couldn't really tell until you looked at the bright white of the window frames and gauzy curtains. The bead spread was covered with bright sunflowers that Dawn had stitched on herself with scraps of fabric. Even on dreary days this room was bright and cheerful, she hoped it was a welcome change from the stark white hospital.

Emma cleared her throat on the other end of the phone, "That's . . . that's good. Mary Margaret sends her regards. O-okay, okay jeeze Henry!" Dawn heard jostling and the distinctive voice of a child on the other end of the line.

Dawn smiled, she liked the boy. She unfortunately had only ever met with him when he was ill, he had gotten strep throat often in his early years, but he had been a stalwart patient for such a little kid. "Henry's over there? Tell him I said 'Hello, and keep carrying around those lozenges.' I gave him a big enough bag last time he saw me, he shouldn't have to buy any until he's in college!" Dawn giggled, sharing a bright moment of laughter with Katherine who joined in. Dawn was so happy to have someone else around for once!

"That was you, _you_ started that?" barked Emma, failing to hide the bubble of laughter in her voice. "Christ I think that's one thing Regina and I can both agree on, those stupid lozenges are a mess! Every time the kid comes over he trails these paper wrappers like breadcrumbs. They're everywhere," she laughed, exasperation coloring her rant. "Hold on, the kid wants to talk t—"

"Doctor Thornhill?" chirped Henry over the phone.

"Hey Henry, what's shakin' bacon?" she knew it was corny, but she couldn't help it. Most of the kids thought it was funny.

Today, however, Henry was clearly all business. "Doctor Thornhill, I tried to tell Emma that it's really important not to tell my mom where Rose French is, but she's not getting it," he ranted.

"Don't worry Henry, she won't get anything out of me. I think your m. . . Emma gets it. She already told me not to tell your mother anything," said Dawn as sincerely as she could. Katherine sat on the edge of the bed, frowning up at Dawn in question. Dawn plopped on the bed next to Katherine and rolled her eyes. She had a feeling she was about to get an earful of Henry's theories. During a visit a couple of years ago Henry had told her all about his idea that they were all fairy story characters stuck in the real world, and she had been an honorary inductee into Operation Cobra.

"But listen, it's in my book." _Ah, there it is_. "The evil queen already had Belle locked up once. She can't ever know that she's with Rumpelstiltskin. You're her friend, you have to protect her," warned Henry.

Dawn shook her head. "I'm a little confused. Isn't Belle from 'Beauty and the Beast'? So why would it matter that she's staying with Rumpelstiltskin?" Dawn was trying to shake him off his track, help him see reason. Those in town who knew his theory were constantly trying to wear him down, help him out of this phase. The boy was _persistent_.

She supposed Mr. Gold must have found a role in Henry's storybook at last, Rumpelstiltskin. Dawn was trying her best to ignore Katherine's confused and worried look. Katherine wasn't included in this secret conspiracy of Henry's but she had heard rumors . . . the whole town had.

Henry sighed, "Because Rumpelstiltskin is the Beast. Promise me you'll protect Rose, you're her friend." For one so young and small, he certainly could make his voice steely with resolve, Dawn was impressed.

"That's the second time you've said that. I wasn't friends with Rose before . . ." there it was again, that strange blank smudge in her mind where the past should be. Dawn was dizzy trying to remember when she had seen Rose last before her admission to the psych ward. Thankfully Henry jumped onto her thoughts, halting their spiraling descent.

"No you weren't friends with Rose. You were friends with Belle," he explained, as if that would clarify everything.

"I was friends with Belle? Why was I friends with Belle?" She was starting to get a headache, humoring this child for so long was clearly not benefitting her own mental health.

Henry sighed again, this time more exasperatedly. She felt like a small child who couldn't understand the big words her parents used. "You were friends with Belle because you were Aurora!"

"The Sleeping Beauty?" asked Dawn; damn this kid was playing badminton with her mind! She tried to understand why he would think she was the Sleeping Beauty. Dawn wasn't beautiful, hell, she wasn't even very pretty. But she _was_ lonely, and she _did_ live near enough to the forest to practically be in it. And then one major characteristic appeared in her memory, like light shimmering and reflecting on the surface of water. But how could he know that? _How?_ She _never_ let anyone hear her . . .

Dawn hurriedly reassured him that she would follow in her duties as a friend and protect 'Belle.' Sherriff Swan took back the phone, made apologies for her son and hung up.

"Dawn? Dawn? Sweetie, are you okay?" asked Katherine, as she took her friend's hand in hers. Dawn felt like she was in a trance, in shock. It wasn't possible. He couldn't know . . .

Dawn shook her head, as if rousing from a hundred years' sleep. She smiled at Katherine, attempting to diffuse her friend's concern. "I'm fine, I just got a little light headed. I think I must be hungry. Are you ready for dinner? I've got a new pasta recipe I want to try out!"

She felt like her words were spilling from her mouth like the song of a mockingbird, no direction, or pattern, swift and jumbled all together. "Okay, and I can make some iced tea," said Katherine, her doubts and concerns obviously put to bed for the time being.

As Katherine led the way to the kitchen, Dawn placed both hands over her mouth. Suddenly every song she had ever heard wanted to tumble from her mouth. Suddenly she wanted to _sing_ . . .

* * *

_Belle loved the forest, the solitary beauty of it. The trees around her rose taller than any cathedral. Green moss covered them, like velvet robes, spilling to the ground and sheltering the bare earth with its soft comfort._

_The trees were the true kings and guardians of the forest, the small animals and birds finding shelter beneath their outstretched arms. And one other thing that Belle truly loved about the forest . . . she could always tell when she wasn't alone._

_The birds had stopped their conversations, falling silent. Whether their quiet was from fear or surprise, she could not say. All she knew was that there were eyes following her that belonged to neither bird, nor animal. Belle gathered her green cloak about her more tightly, pulled the hood further over her face. Living with Rumpelstiltskin had made her wary. Traveling alone had made her observant._

"_I know you're out there, whoever you are. Why not come out and say, 'hello' . . . save us both some time?" she called out through the trees. Belle refused to so much as twitch when the snap of a deadfall twig cracked and echoed through the trees. A low growl caught her attention as it crept up on her. She turned to see a wolf with grey and white fur slink from between the trees._

"_You think you can frighten me with your pet?" called Belle as she kept her eyes fixed on the wolf. He didn't frighten her; she had seen all manner of beast wandering through Rumple's poor excuse for a garden. But it didn't hurt to keep an eye on something that could rip her throat out if she wasn't careful._

_The beast's master stepped slowly from behind a tree to her right. He was clever, keeping just out of her sightline; she could barely see him out of the corner of her eye. A dark man and a white wolf . . . charming._

"_It isn't safe for little girls to wander alone in the forest. Didn't you know that?" he asked her. His voice was dark, yet warm. He didn't sound cruel, but neither did he sound friendly. Something was off about him . . . him and his wolf. Belle's skin crawled in warning. _Find a way out of this, now!

_Belle readjusted her basket on her arm, and slipped a hand under its little cloth. She hid her grin when her fingers found the hilt of her little knife. It may be no match for the man and wolf if she was forced to fight hand to hand . . . or worse hand to claw. But if she was lucky a well-timed toss might be enough to give her an opening to run. In the months she had stayed in the Dark Castle Belle had found that it had gotten boring, often. What else could a girl do to pass the time but practice her aim throwing all manner of things?_

_The wolf took two slow steps towards her, his face low to the ground, his hackles tense and waiting. She saw the man hold a hand up and the wolf stopped. The man finally made his way to the path, standing center in her sight._

_He was handsome. Intense dark eyes held hers as he adjusted his gloves and took a length of rope from his belt. Belle frowned, "You're a fool if you think you can take me anywhere. I won't let anything stop me . . . I'm going home." She moved quickly, trying to hide her movements until the last second. She threw her little knife at the hunter, aiming dead-on to his heart, and turned to run. She heard the whistle of the knife as it flew and then met suddenly with leather._

_She turned to see her handiwork and nearly panicked when she understood what had happened. The hunter had her knife by its blade; he had caught it deftly with two fingers. He lunged and hurled the knife at her in return. It shrieked over her shoulder, so close that when it passed her ear it threaded through her hair. The knife had buried itself hilt-deep in a tree before her._

"_Now that that unpleasantness is over, I would greatly appreciate it if you could stand still long enough for me to make sure you follow me," said the hunter calmly, unperturbed by the fact that she had just tried to kill him. "I'm sure that had I a heart I would be quite sorry. In fact I think I am quite sorry, Belle."_

_Belle was numb, unable to move. The huntsman's wolf had circled behind her, blocking any hope of escape. And now she found that this could be no ordinary hunter standing resolutely before her. "H-how . . . how did you . . . No, no! I won't go with you. She can't stop me! The Queen _won't_ stop me!" She had finally realized what was so off about this, _heartless_, hunter. It all made sense now._

_He leapt at her as wolf attacks a deer. He slammed into her chest pinning her arms to her sides. She had not even had the chance to turn from him, try and flee. The wolf paced around them, his eyes fixed on Belle's terror-stricken face. _

_The huntsman forced Belle's arms behind her back and tied them with the rope. He never looked away from her face as he bound her hands, his stare was so unsettling. His blank, dark eyes turned her stomach and sent her art racing. She had hoped she was wrong, that she would feel his heart beating beneath his tunic for he stood so close. But no, there was emptiness, a calm dead space where his heart should be._

_Belle swallowed tightly, her fear and numbness were melting away, leaving hot anger in their place. She found her voce at last, "I won't go with you. I won't let her use me against him! Kill me, kill me and save him!" she screamed. The wolf growled ominously as it circled them both. She saw true remorse in the hunter's eyes as he tightened her bonds and stepped away. _

_He sighed and took her arm firmly in his gloved hand. He turned them around, away from home. Away from _him_. Bitter tears stung her eyes and she could nothing to stem their flow. "Would that I could do you a kindness. Would that I could set you free. But I have no heart . . . but regretfully you do," he said softly_

_Belle laughed harshly through her tears, "Finally, I've met a real monster."_

_The hunter shook his head sadly, "No. I'm not a monster. I'm just a shadow. Where we go now . . . there lives a real monster."_

"_I'm not afraid. But she sure as hell should be."_

_The huntsman shrugged as he lead her down an unfamiliar path. Belle looked down their road and felt her stomach tighten even further, the trees down that way were stunted, and the ground rose and turned rocky. He was leading her towards the Hollow Mountains. The hunter did not attempt to talk to her, to distract her from her own thoughts. She made no move to befriend him. What was the point of trying to win friendship from a man who had no heart?_

_Oddly, it was the wolf that eventually brought Belle comfort. The beast stuck close to the hunter, like a burr takes hold to anything that touches it. The animal soon grew relaxed around Belle, his tongue lolled from his open jaws and the corners of his mouth drew up in that funny canine smile. It was not long before the beast began to butt against Belle's leg as they walked, attempting to pry some attention and affection from the girl he no longer saw as a threat . . . or as prey. _

Fitting_, she thought to herself, _How very like me to find comfort in the beast and not the man_. She swallowed back her bitter laughter, unwilling for the huntsman to see her betray any emotion. She was sure that most everything she knew was being stolen from her with every step she took. Her mind . . . Her thoughts . . . Her heart . . . she would keep them at all costs._

_It seemed as though they walked through age after age, the land around them shifting from that lush forest Belle loved so well to a barren and rocky waste. The air was thinning and it hurt to breathe. The three travelers, man, woman, and beast, were fighting for each breath they took. Belle wondered if it was truly the altitude or something more sinister trying to steal their lives, for now she could see a great black growth jutting from shoulders of the mount._

_The huntsman stopped and held his arm out. The great wolf halted at the man's command, his hackles rising and the growl crept into his throat again. The ground beneath their feet rumbled lowly, vibrations rippling from their toes up into their hearts. Something in the black stone growth moved, and from it detached a swiftly moving shape. Belle hardened her heart as its shape grew as it drew near them, as it became plain._

_The great black carriage clattered down the stony road, kicking up dust as it halted before them. Anger bubbled up inside Belle when she recognized it, so it was true. That kindly stranger on the road . . . he had been right. The coach was grand and ornate. No driver sat at the seat, no footmen followed it. Only the unwilling black steeds accompanied the chariot to her doom._

_The huntsman gently helped her into the carriage then climbed up to the driver's perch. The carriage rocked as the wolf jumped up to the footman's seat at the rear. The carriage drove them through what must have been the gates to hell and up towards a great dark keep. It looked as though the monstrous building had tried to fight the mountain it sat on, tried to become a grand palace only to fail and be partially swallowed by the mount itself._

_The carriage rolled slowly to a top by the dark keep's front steps, the building was by for more intimidating up close. As the hunter helped her from the carriage and into the castle, Belle felt as if she was being swallowed whole by a giant, fanged mouth. The gullet of the beast was all black stone and sharp lines, uncomfortable and cold. The hunter led her to a large throne room, a black throne as wicked as the Queen's heart sat at its center. Mirrors hung everywhere; tall, smooth glasses that made Belle feel dizzy and inadequate._

_The hunter loosed her bonds then squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," he said quietly. He took a step from her then addressed her more loudly, "Wait here for the Queen, she will—"_

"_See you now," a cold female voice cut off the huntsman. A tall, dark-haired woman in a grandly decadent black gown stepped from behind the throne. "Huntsman, you may go. I shall call you if I have need of you," she waved a hand dismissively at him then sat elegantly on the wicked throne._

"_Come closer dear, no need to stand on ceremony here," beckoned to woman. Belle had to admit, she was beautiful. Belle suddenly felt supremely inferior, her travel-worn clothes, and the fact that couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper bath really didn't help things._

_But one thing Belle still had was her hard-won bravery. "I don't care what you think you can get out of me. It will do you no good. I will die rather than let you use me against him," she said in as strong a voice she could muster._

_The queen sat back in her throne, leaned her cheek upon her hand, and smiled sweetly at Belle. "Well you aren't a simpleton, I'll give you that," she chuckled deeply. "I hate to tell you this dear, but you really won't have a choice. You can't tell me anything I don't already know about him. And whether you die now or not doesn't actually matter to me," the Queen let her words hang in the air. "But you _do_ have other uses to me. Believe you me, I'll use you as I see fit."_

_The Queen sat up straight in her throne and looked down her nose at Belle, "You'll be a . . . _guest_ with me for quite some time. I suggest you adjust to that fact."_

_Belle bristled at the Queen's superior tone. "I refuse. I won't be a very good bargaining chip or . . . or ace up your sleeve if I'm dead, am I?" Belle threatened. Let the Queen play her game, Belle had played with a _master_. This witch didn't frighten her in the least. _

_The Queen laughed brightly, full of mirth. Suddenly Belle didn't feel quite so confidant. "Starve yourself if you want. Toss yourself from my battlement. Steal a guard's sword and fall on it. I really could not care less. Your _remains_ will be mine to do with what I want," the Queen hissed. She let the implications of what she had just uttered claw its way under Belle's skin. Belle felt the blood drain from her face. "And I assure you," continued the Queen softly, "Rumpelstiltskin won't take it so well if he were to find your lifeless body thrown at his doorstep."_

_Belle's heart raced, how could things have gone so wrong so quickly? "He'll know it was you. He'll kill you," she bit back, grasping at some shred of a hope._

_The Queen laughed, savoring Belle's near hysteria. "I don't think so, dear. You see he's already under the impression that you've killed yourself . . ." she let her voice trail away. "I ought to send your father a gift. Torturing you to the point of jumping from that tower . . . he definitely made my job a hell of a lot easier."_

_Oh Gods, Rumple thought she was dead. She couldn't begin to imagine the heartbreak it must have caused him. Had he known? Had he known she was coming home? Home to him? Her fingertips were numb, her skin tingled with panic. _

_She had been alone from the moment that huntsman had taken her away and she hadn't even known. She had not been able to save herself, and now . . . a cold realization slammed into her. He wasn't going to save her either. And _that_ had been her last chance._

_She would never see him again. Never tell him . . . _

_Belle felt her knees give in as her body sat heavily on the stone floor. The Queen rose from her throne and seemed to float on air as she came towards Belle. She knelt before Belle, taking her hand in her own and stroking her forehead gently. "My, my. You really do love him don't you? I'll admit it disgusts me a little thinking about you and that monster. Can't you just imagine kissing that rotten mouth?" the Queen shuddered._

_Belle looked up sharply, anger rolling in her veins. "He's not the monster, _your majesty,_ you are," she spat at the Queen. "And kissing him wasn't nearly so _disgusting_ as having you sit so close to me. You poison the very air around you."_

"_Brave words for such a little thing. Now what shall it be?" asked the Queen as she stood slowly. Belle found that her body wouldn't respond to her own commands anymore, she was standing and following the Queen through the halls of her keep. The Queen stopped at a crossroads, a set of stairs that led up and a set that wound downward. "Dungeon or tower? Take your pick."_

_Belle took to the stairs unwillingly. She tried to force her body backwards as the sound of the Queen's harsh laughter followed her like a hungry, begging cur. It wrapped around her like a noose as she wound, round and round to her next prison._

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_**A/N:**__ I know you all are probably tired of reading it, but I'm not tired of saying it: Thank you, all of you who have read this story so far and are watching it/faving it. This means the world to me. Please, if you have a moment and you're digging this story, drop a comment! Hopefully if more of you comment more people will join in on this ¡angst-party! I like to call a story. Haha, :) I want to thank Chibi Tsuki Hikari for your comment, I'm glad you're liking this monster of a thing so far! Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: Jonatha Brooke, and the number: Disney's Greatest, Volume 3. I just really love the sad reality and desperation in the lyrics of this one. Horribly appropriate for all of the characters, I thought._


	6. Thistle & Weeds

**A/N:** Oh boy, here we go folks. I think this might be the most action I've ever written EVER. I'm not so sure I succeeded, but I certainly had a ton of fun writing it. I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of the fabulously fleshed out characters in i I'm just borrowing them for playtime. :)

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**Thistle & Weeds**

Mr. Gold was quite sure that someday soon someone was going to break into his shop and steal every trinket he'd ever collected, he'd been away from it so often of late. But for the first time in so long he didn't care. Let the blighters take what they wanted, none of it could compare to having Belle back in his lif _his_ Belle. And he sure as hellfire was not going to let anyone take her from him ever again.

He sat in a comfortable wing chair hidden in the corner of his library, pretending to read a book on the agricultural practices of 17th century England. But, of course, what he was really doing was keeping an eye on _Dawn_ and his little Belle. He smiled to himself, _Dawn, how appropriate_.

The ENT doctor had stopped by the house nearly every day for the past two weeks, even if it was only just for a moment. She claimed it was to keep tabs on Rose's progress and well-being, but he knew better. Both women were lonely for others of their kin and it didn't hurt that there was a permanent bond woven between them from long ago. Sometimes when the light was just right, or Belle laughed just so, or _Dawn_ smiled in that way he could see it. It sparkled like a silver thread that wound around them, curled in their hair and twined itself in their fingers.

Today Gold was eavesdropping on a subject that sounded oddly like Belle trying to get the doctor to start wearing colors. To get out there and socialize. To wear make-u

Women.

The doorbell rang, causing all three of them to freeze, Belle fell silent and Dawn's eyes grew like saucers. Gold glanced at his watch, spot on time. "It's all right dearies. I believe I'm expecting someone," he said quietly as he placed his book down and stabbed the floor with his cane in order to haul his creaking bones to stand. As he limped to the front door he thought that there was one thing he cared for the least in this horrible world they now found themselves in. This damned aching body was going to be his undoing, he just knew it.

Gold reached the door at last and opened it _not_ upon the woman he expected, but upon the very man he had asked to meet him there. _Thank Gods she hasn't learned yet that Belle's here_, he thought to himself relieved. It really wasn't that he feared her taking his Belle away, but more that he knew he was simply going to have to kill her the next time she showed her dirty, rotten, treacherous face. He and Belle were doing so well, he didn't want to cause a moral argument between the yet.

Gold smiled at the man on his front porch. "Ah, Paul. Punctual as everyone says." The young man smiled nervously, as most people were wont to do in his presence. He was almost as strapping as David Nolan, tall and toned. But there was somethin poetic about Paul Sampson's form, he was lithe and his grey eyes were pensive.

"I try, Mr. Gold. Now is it your front or back that needs work?" asked Paul as he produced a dirt-smudged notebook and took a pencil stub from behind his ear.

Mr. Gold felt his mouth twitch as he tried to hold back an amused smile. "The back, I'm afraid. And I'm sorry to say it won't be an easy job," he mourned sarcastically. He closed the door behind him firmly and led Paul around the side of the house to the backyard rather than taking him through the house itself. He had a feeling that timing was going to be everything in this particular project and he didn't want to reveal his hand quite yet.

When they reached the ruins of the backyard Paul whistled at the impressive mess. Creepers had overrun the old gazebo, the stone fountain, and were slowly trying to conquer the back of the house as new territory. Leaves from the numerous fruit trees, left over from countless autumns and winters, piled here and there like great brown snow drifts. The grass was patchy and the rose bushes had degenerated to unattractive thorn bushes the hulked and hunkered in the piles of leaves. They were as wild beasts, lying in wait until an easy prey wandered just a little too close.

Paul coughed into his fist, clearly trying to hide his shock at the shabby state of what should have been an impressive garden. "S uh what did you have in mind as far as, um _improvement_?" he asked as he flipped the notebook open to a blank page.

"Thank you for your delicacy, but let's be honest shall we? It's quite the disaster back here," Mr. Gold sneered. The garden had never really been a priority for him in the past. He didn't like to sit outside that often; the weather wreaked all kinds of havoc on his old bones. Hell, he didn't even look outside of his windows: his heavy curtains saw to that. So what had been the point in keeping up a garden that no one saw or cared about?

Things were a little different now. He wanted to _do_ something for her, even if it was just a little thing. He wanted to see her smile at him again.

Paul laughed lightly, "Well if we're going to be frank, I think disaster isn't a strong enough word. So I'm guessing that the vines and thorns are going to go?" asked Paul as he made some notes on one page then began sketching the general shape of the garden on the other.

"Well, unless you think the vines will stop just short of coming into the house and taking up residence then I think the vines must go. And those poor old thorns need to be taken out back and shot to put them out of misery," Gold said bitterly. Paul laughed as he continued to sketch. Gold leaned on his cane with one hand as he gestured to different areas of the garden with the other, tossing out ideas to the young landscaper.

Paul nodded as he wrote down some finishing notes. "I think I have a pretty idea about what you want," he showed his design sketch to Gold who was pleasantly surprised at the young man's talent. "Now you've mentioned flowers a couple of times, but do you have any specific preferences as far as flora?" he asked as he scratched at his temple with the eraser of his pencil.

"Roses," said Gold without a moment's hesitation. "There have to be rose somewhere in here. I know I didn't take care of them befor certainly will now," he said softly. How disgustingly sentimental of him. If Paul was surprised by Gold's sudden lapse of romanticism he had the presence of mind not to show it.

Sudden movement near the house drew their attention away from the remains of Gold's garden. Dawn was pulling the curtains of the library aside savagely. Gold frowned in frustration. This was not how he had wanted to lay out the cards. Clearly fate had other plans in mind. Then again fate had always had a ridiculously strong hold on these two.

Paul grew still next to him, his eyes locked on the curvy doctor with her long dark blonde hair. The young man was transfixed, held captive as he watched her straighten the curtains, then turn away to disappear further into the house. A blush rose to his cheekbones, either from anger or excitement Gold couldn't tell but it made him smile deviously nonetheless. For twenty-eight years he had been waiting for this thick-headed dunce to take notice of the shy doctor.

Thank you Emma for showing up at last.

"Doubtless, you're curious why little Dawn Thornhill is in my house?" asked Mr. Gold as he limped over to a stone bench set beneath a weeping willow that was in desperate need of a trim.

Paul shook his head, feigning disinterest and failing horribly. He followed Gold to the bench and the two sat together, Paul scooting away just a tad. No one ever wanted to be too close to Mr. Gold. Well except fo

Paul waved his hand, "S'none of my business. She can see whoever she want a-and I mean you can too sir," he added hastily. "So roses. You got it. Uh, and any particular shrubs or anything else you'd like in here?" asked Paul as his blushed deepened and spread.

Mr. Gold smiled wickedly, he loved the odd symmetry happening in his garden at this moment. "You know, she's not really my type. And I really don't think I'm hers," said Gold as he rested both hands on the golden handle of his cane. He thought he'd baited the hook quite well, now he was just waiting for the fish to bite.

"Uh, really. Not her type you say? Any idea what her type might be?" he asked nonchalantly. Gold could almost hear the fish's mouth snap shut on the hook.

"You," said Gold simply. Paul gave quite the start at Gold's candor, and the old man had a difficult time concealing his amusement. "As a matter of fact, I believe the young lady has finished her duties here and will be on her way home. Why not be a gentleman and see if she needs and escort?" asked Gold slyly. The young man was most amusing to watch, his face as easy to read as the morning "Mirror." Gold sat heavily on an old stone bench, his knee having had quite enough of the cold, damp weather. "Meet her round the front door, and remember . . ."

Paul met Gold's gaze in curiosity. Gold winked at the young landscaper, "She's just as afraid of you as you are of her." He chuckled as the flustered gardener spun about and headed towards the front of the house. He knew that it upset Belle when she had found he was still a meddler, but he wondered just _how much_ she would mind once she discovered just who he was meddling with.

He breathed deeply the last vestiges of winter on the new spring air. As much as it seemed a horrible cliché, he found that he liked autumn and winter best, the smell of decaying leaves, the sharp bite of frost on the wind, the glitter the world took on when it snowed. He supposed he had Belle to thank for that as well. She had come to live him on a late autumn day, and had eventually found his castle perfect to hole up in on blustery days with a good book and a hot cup of tea. His strange little Belle who had always found the good in anything.

And now she was once more in his clutches.

He shook his head sadly. She deserved so much more than the wizened old sinner that he was. She deserved someone like Paul or Thomas, an honest and strong youth who could give her the world. What could he ever give her? A pile of old junk, a falling down home, and a bum knee.

Hell.

But Gods he would never let her go again. Perhaps it was selfishness that kept him clinging to her, even when he had thought her gone he had hoarded her memory taking out his own guilt on her father. The spring cold had permeated his very skin so long he must have sat out in the air. He slowly hauled himself to his feet and relied on his blasted cane to make his way to the back door.

When he entered the house and found Belle sitting at the kitchen table, her arms crossed over her chest, he gave a small start. He was still unused to having someone else in the house with him. He'd been so alone for so long.

"Well that was quite the show I just had the privilege to witness," she said softly as she narrowed her eyes at him. Gold limped heavily to the kitchen table and carefully lowered himself onto the rickety chair across from her.

He smiled crookedly at her, "Really now? And just what, might I ask, did you witness?"

Even as her eyes narrowed further still until they were two electric blue slits in her face he found that Belle couldn't keep the smile from creeping across her face. "Well I just so happened to see a young man who strikingly resembles Prince Philip knock on our door and ask my doctor out on a date," she said as flatly as she could.

'_Our door'?_ his thoughts crashed down around his ears for a moment before he could recover from that joyful, wonderful thought. Mr. Gold ducked his head to hide the playful grin on his face, "Well isn't that just the juiciest piece of gossip this side of town?"

"Rumple . . ." Belle asked lowly. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

He raised his eyes to her again and grinned rakishly before giving her a wounded gasp not unlike one he had given her father so many years ago. "Me, dearie, stick my pointy nose in other people's business? _Never_," he breathed, pouring as much offense and hurt into it as he could summon.

Belle laughed brightly at his flamboyant show, her false anger disappearing in an instant. He found himself falling into familiar patterns of behavior having her around him. He felt more at ease, more like his old self. But oddly, only in the best sense. When he was at home he found that his cares receded until they were almost nonexistent. The plotting and planning he had done since Emma had arrived in town was becoming as fun and pleasurable as it had been in the old world.

"Oh don't act so innocent, I know you had a hand in it. And this time I am all for it," Belle said happily. She leaned heavily into the chair, "Thank you for the laugh. I needed it. My 'sessions' with _Dr. Thornhill_ are becoming more and more . . ." She searched for the word, "Taxing. They're becoming taxing."

Gold frowned as she sighed heavily, "How so, dear? Should I find another doctor to come visit?" Was she ill? He couldn't have her back so soon only to lose her again. He leaned forward on the table, resting heavily on his elbows. "Whatever you need, whatever you want, I'll find a way to vie it to you."

She smiled tiredly. "No, that's not what I meant at all. I enjoy her company so well, I couldn't bear to lose my friend so soon. It's just that I find myself so at ease with _Dr. Thornhill_ that I keep trying to call her Aurora. And I swear if she catches me tripping over my own name one more time she's going to send me to a real asylum," she laughed darkly.

Gold relaxed into his chair once more, trying not to sigh with relief. "I understand. I have found that it's far easier to keep names straight by using them as little as possible. I daresay you've noticed it yourself," he inclined his head at her.

She nodded and leaned her elbows on the table. "Yes, you barely call me by my name. And when you do it's usually Rose now," she said sadly. She looked up at him suddenly with consternation, "Truly? Rose? How in seven Hells did that happen?"

They laughed together for a moment, and it filled him near to the brim with that feeling of rightness they shared together. Perhaps their love was, after al true. He frowned tightly, trying to move his thoughts to other things. "I'm so sorry that the curse was far more sentimental than I. But I will tell you, maybe it will reassure you a little, I never _think_ of you as Rose," he admitted softly.

Belle rose from her seat and took the one closest to him, pushing the chair nearer to his. She held her hand out on the table and without hesitation he took it. His blood sang in his veins at the touch of her smooth palm against his callused one. He had not dared to touch her since she had entered his home nearly a month gone by.

They had danced around each other. She, seemingly, unsure of this man was so much so and yet not at all like the beast she had grown to love long ago. He had kept his distance from her thanks to his constant companion of fear. He feared that she would touch him, feel the difference, the lack of power, and vanish. He feared that he would frighten her or disgust her, their disparity in age so plainly apparent. And he feared most that once he touched her, he would never let go, he would cling to her so tightly that it would drive them apart completely.

Now he found that to his vast surprise and joy his worries and fears had been for naught. She did not flinch at him; he did not see her skin crawl when their hands touched, did not see her eyes widen in fear from their proximity. Instead he saw her sigh as if finally at rest after a long day, her eyes flutter closed. "Oh, my Belle," he whispered reverently and she sighed once more.

He reached out, emboldened by her comfort in his presence, and touched her face gently. His fingers brushed along her cheek to tuck and errant curl behind her ear. He froze when she leaned into his touch and rested her cheek firmly against his palm. Slowly he felt his shoulders relax, his head tilted to gaze with more ease at her face. _It truly is no wonder that her name means beauty_, he thought to himself.

He brought her face to his and touched her forehead to his. They sat there like that for long, contented breaths. His fingers refused to take themselves away from her, they skated over her skin, brushing down her jaw and neck, along the collar of the old button-down shirt of his she wore. They arrested when they felt and uneven line of skin at her collarbone.

Gold pushed them apart slowly, making her fingers untangle themselves from his hair where they had apparently been trying to twine. He brushed the collar of her shirt aside and froze at the sight of the faint scar that ran from her collarbone across her chest and into the depths of the shirt.

A red haze threatened to cloud his vision the longer he stared at it. "You owe me a story little girl," he said darkly, trying to mask the anger he felt at her apparent mistreatment. Perhaps Maurice deserved to die for his crimes to perhaps he would bury the old king next to the dead queen once he was finishe

Belle must have seen the hate in his eyes as he stared at her ruined flesh. She suddenly leant forward and took his face in her hands, gently forcing his gaze away from her scar and to her eyes once more. She breathed deeply and he found himself breathing with her. "True enough. I have much to tell you. And I will, but . . ."

He grinned at her, one side of his smile tugging higher than the other, "You have a price?"

She chuckled softly but nodded. "Find me some clothes that are a bit more appropriate. Clothes I can call my own and wear out when we're finally ready to face the world again together, and I'll tell you my story. All of it."

His breath caught, _together_. No matter how much time passed, he believed that he would never take for granted what was knitting between the two of them. She took her hands from his face and held one out to him, "Do we have a deal?"

He took her hand and squeezed it firmly, "Deal."

* * *

_He was going to do everything in his power to get her back. Ha, as if he had ever had her to lose. And yet, oddly enough, it seems he had always had her, and now what slim hope they had left was almost gone._

_He would _not_ lose her again._

_Philip pushed Sampson harder on, far more demanding of his faithful steed than he had ever been. Lather had worked up at poor Sampson's mouth and the grey horse's chest and haunches were flecked with foamy sweat. _You're too late, you'll never see here agai she's gone_, his treacherous mind taunted him._

_Philip blinked back tears of frustration and anger as he and Sampson flew through the enchanted forest. He had never been so torn in his life, hurtling from one emotion to another and yet another still all within days and hours. His heart had cracked and splintered, cutting his chest and ripping his lungs so that he couldn't breathe when she had looked at him so blankly. So coldly._

_She had said that she didn't love him, that he should never see her again. And it was a lie. He had known she was lying the moment she drew that first breath. But what could he do? She didn't want to see him, and the woman was stubborn as a mule. So he had left her there with Belle. He had turned Sampson away and rode into his empty future._

_It was all his fault, he knew that completely._

_When he had arrived home to find preparations begun for his coming nuptials he had just wanted to die. He had slammed the door to his chambers shut to sit and wallow alone in his own self-pity. For nearly a week he took his meals alone in his rooms, saw no one, talked with no one. And then on the day he was to be wed he found he was not as alone as he had thought._

_That imp, the one everyone feared to speak his name, yet called-on when their last hope had died, was leaning possessively against Philip's hearth. His mottled green and golden skin and his hideous smile were off putting, to be sure, but truthfully Philip had felt a flicker of hope flutter in his chest. This was the deal-maker, the wish-granter, the last chance-giver._

"_Rumpelstiltskin," he had said quietly, as if in prayer. The imp had bowed with a dramatic flourish._

"_Ah, I do so love dealing with royalty," he'd giggled as he wiggled his fingers and twitched about the room. "And trust me, dearie, you'll be wanting to deal with me today," he had grinned wickedly._

_Philip had frowned, "How could you possibl ?" He had never told anyone about what he did when he rode off into the forest, never so much as breathed her name even when alone in his rooms. How could this imp have know _

_Rumpelstiltskin had cocked his head at the prince, his wicked smile taking on a sweeter note. "I'm afraid you're going to have to rescue your little princess before you marry her. It seems she's fallen a little under the weather," he had said loftily._

_Philip had frowned, "Oh, her. I'm afraid you're insight is a little off today. I didn't want to marry her anyway." He had sulked and thrown himself into a soft chair. It seemed as though his life could not sink and lower. Now he was going to have to rescue a girl he didn't even want to marry._

"_Changed your mind, have you dearie?" asked the imp in mock confusion. Something in his voice had caught Philip's attention. Something was off. The imp had frowned in indifference. "Oh, well. I suppose Maleficent will just have to get used to her new little pet. Although I will say, she's a touch luckier than I had first thought. My but that little Aurora can sing," sighed Rumpelstiltskin._

_Philip had leapt from his chair, his heart fist to burst. It couldn't b His bride could it truly have bee "No, no. You're lying. I'm supposed to marry some princess that—"_

"_No one's ever seen, or even knows her name?" the imp had dangled the startling possibility before Philip. Philip's mouth had hit the floor soundly. He was to marry Aurora! Aurora a princess all this time and he had neve "Now, there is that small matter of rescue to which I alluded earlier," Rumpelstiltskin had interrupted Philip's daze epiphany_

_Cold seeped into Philip's bones. If she was truly being held captive by Maleficent, that was far beyond his ken to contend with. Philip looked up to the imp who had seemingly followed his thought process completely. Here was the key, giggling before him. "You have to help me save her," Philip had commanded, throwing all caution to the wind and clearly signing away his soul on the dotted line to this devil._

"_Oh don't you fret, dearie. I'll give you what you need to liberate your dearly beloved. But!" he had held up a slim finger, "For a pric "_

_And now Philip found himself, nearly killing his mount as they rode through hell and damnation to find his bride. Gods he hoped she was still alive to fill that place in his heart. Bride._

_The trees parted and he found that outside world was as dark as the forest had been. Night had fallen and the moon was hiding her face behind a cloud bank. But all around him was an eerie green glowing, as though the mist itself cast light. He had halted Sampson on the shore of a vast lake, its water was still and glistened and winked through the fog. Philip guided Sampson around the edge of the water, searching the ground carefully for a path, a bridge, a set of rocks, anything at all really._

_For there, in the middle of the glassy lake was a towering castle, its spires were as teeth and it loomed over the water like a great serpent, coiled and poised to strike. As Philip and his trusting horse circled the lake a dark shape slowly took form as they neared it through the mist. The hair on the back of his neck rose as the form become clearer to him. Sampson, shied away from the figure, his eyes rolling to show their whites, his nostrils flared wide._

_Philip fought to keep his seat as Sampson kicked up rocks around him as he balked from the figure. The tall, slim witch smiled widely at the prince. Her teeth gleamed in the dark and her eyes glittered like stars. Her gown shimmered like an oil slick and sucked in what little light surrounded her. Her unruly golden curls, glinting in the odd green light, were pulled away from her face by her horned headdress. As beautiful as she was, she was the stuff of nightmares._

"_Come little prince, I'll give her back to you with my blessin if you'll pay my tithe," she hissed just as Philip had calmed Sampson enough to hold his ground. The horse laid his ears flat against his skull and took two panicked steps away from Maleficent._

_This was the moment he had been dreading. All he had was a hope, and a prayer, and the word of a deceitful old sinner. Philip drew the strange sword that he had strapped to Sampson's saddle. The black blade reflected no light, did not shine in the ominous green glow, but a purple gem set in its pommel cast a glow of its own. Maleficent's eyes widened when she saw the weapon in his hand. "I'll pay you no tithe, I've paid my price already," he growled trough gritted teeth and raised the blade high above his head._

_Maleficent shrank back and shrieked, "You bastard! You conniving little monster, you'll pay for this!" She whirled her cloak about herself as Philip hauled on Sampson's reins and threw his mount at the witch, bringing the blade down upon her. The sword cut through nothing more than dark purple smoke and mist. The mass of black smoke took flight, slicing a clear path of vision in the mist as it swirled through the sky and circled the great castle._

_In the breaking mist Philip caught sight of a long and narrow road that led from the shore to the castle. Keeping the blade unsheathed he turned Sampson around and pushed them onwards onto the road. One eye on the path and the other eyeing the threatening, flying smoke he found that thick creepers were growing rapidly from the ground wherever the smoke had touched. He gasped as they shot towards him and Sampson, trying in vain to ensnare the horse's limbs or to bear down on the prince to topple him from the saddle. _

_Something sharp sliced across Philip's forehead just as he saw a long red gash open up on Sampson's shoulder. The horse screamed in pain but plowed onward through what Philip finally saw were not creepers but thorns. Blood trickled down into his eyes as the thorns grew and blocked out all sight of the great castle. He turned in the saddle and found the nettled vines had cut off all escape back to shore. They were surrounded._

_He hauled back on the reins and Sampson slid to a halt just as the pathway before them closed tightly shut. The vines were thick, thicker than they should be. They were more like tree trunks that twisted and barbed around them like great snakes coiling around two scared little mice. There was nothing for it, he had no ax and so he began to hack away at the thorns with his meager sword._

No, not meager_, he thought brightly as he found the blade cut through the great briars like a thread through a needle's eye. As the sword bit into the vines the gem at its pommel glowed brighter, its hilt growing warm beneath Philip's fingers, and the cut briar limbs turned to ash. Wherever the blade sliced across the brambles they set aflame, eating away the thorns he could not reach to cut._

_Sampson, champion that he was, moved steadily onward, his eyes filled with panic from the acrid smoke and the heat of the flames. Sweat slicked down Philip's face as he waged war with the growing vines, it mixed with the blood trailing from the cut on his face making his eyes sting. His dear horse was as beleaguered as he, sweat shining on his neck and plastering his black mane to his steely coat as the two of them desperately fought their way up the road._

_Suddenly there was a great belch of flame and Philip threw his sword-bearing arm across his face as Sampson reared in terror. When Philip finally dared to look he found that the vines had burned away from the road, their remains curling and simmering on the rocks by the lapping water. His heart leapt into his throat and his stomach fell to the earth when another belch of flame shot at him and his steed. The path was bare of the briars, but his way was by no means clear._

_A massive beast, a dark purple-stained dragon barred their way. It unfurled its wings and screeched into the night sky. Sampson was in feral panic as the dragon opened its mouth wide and spoke with Maleficent's voice. "You need not shed your blood. I'll give you your little songbird. Just give to me your father's crown and you can take your precious little princess away," hissed Maleficent as she crept upon him, her great head low to the ground._

_Philip bristled, he knew the power his father's crown held and it was meant for no one to wear in succession but _him_. To see that power in the claws of this monste "Never, you will _never_ hold this world in thrall, so help me Gods!" he cried as he brandished the sword at the dragon. She pulled away as it sliced the bridge of her snout, great droplets of acid green blood dripping onto the earth._

_Maleficent roared deeply, making the earth tremble. "So be it! And now shall you deal with me oh prince," she reared high above the ground, her wings spread wide, "And all the powers of Hell!" _

_Philip murmured reassuring nothings to Sampson as the horse took the barest of steps into retreat. "Hold fast, friend. Ride with me to ruin this one last time," he begged his steed as he dug his heels into Sampson's ribs. They charged the beast, helter skelter down the road. Maleficent opened wide her jaws and belched flames at them. Philip guided Sampson away from the flames, his cloak only singing at the hem. Sampson roared in terror as Philip sliced at whatever he could reach of the dragon. _

_Maleficent screamed in fury and took to the sky. The awesome dragon flew high into the cloud bank, spiraling round and round until all he could see was her spindly silhouette. The air shrieked as she dove at them, her claws outstretched wide. Philip held tightly to Sampson, forcing him to hold their ground until the bitterest moment. Just when it seemed Maleficent would snatch them into her clutches Philip yanked on Sampson's reins, dodging the oncoming beast. _

_Maleficent crashed heavily to the ground, bones snapping and the skin of her wings tearing. She dragged herself to a stand, threw her head to the sky and screeched in wrath. Philip hauled back on the horse's reins forcing Sampson to rear up onto his back legs, dancing to keep them from crashing to the ground. As Maleficent lunged once more for them, Philip called on the words Rumpelstiltskin had made him commit to memory._

"_Now Sword of Truth fly swift and sure, that evil die and good endure!" he cried into the night. The black blade suddenly shone silvery white and the gem in its pommel burst into brilliant blue fire. Philip threw the sword with the last of his strength at the dragon's heart. Maleficent turned to avoid the flying sword but it was too little far too late. The sword missed her heart but buried itself deep into her shoulder. Philip watched in horror as she wailed and turned to snap her jaws shut on horse and rider. _

_He had failed._

_Her jaws came crashing down upon them, and at the last moment were repelled away by something Philip could not see. Maleficent lunged again only to have her teeth crack and break on the vast invisible shield that had sprung up around Philip and Sampson. She could not touch them. Maleficent raised her good claw, her ruined arm dangling at her side, and a mass of dark smoke began to form there. She rose into the air, her broken wings working determinedly to take her off of the ground._

_She opened wide her jaws and spat flame into her claw to mix with the black smoke. She turned clumsily in the air and threw the ball of fire and smoke at the brave prince and the valiant horse. Philip realized too late that it would crash into them, could do nothing to take them from the fireball's path. As Maleficent sailed off into the night the fireball slammed into the invisible wall the sword had created. It was as though a wall of stone had crashed into them, Philip and Sampson were thrown from the road and with a massive crash were both tossed into the black lake._

* * *

_A/N: That's right folks; I didn't let him kill off the beastie. I'm taking some canon from the show, and if they say she's still kicking it up to a certain point, then I gonna let her kick. Ah-ight? Haha. Stonington, thank you so much for your wonderful comment! I legit blushed when I read it, not gonna lie, I was just so tickled! And to everyone else who has faved and alerted this story since I last updated, thank you from the bottom of my shriveled heart. I'm having so much fun writing this story, and I'm stoked that y'all are enjoying this! Oh and no fears, so much more Rumbelle is comin' at ya. Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: Mumford & Sons, and the number: Sigh No More. I can't love this song enough for this chapter, insightful lyrics, soft opening, and a totally epic section that I could totally see Philip galloping Sampson to. Love those boys with all my heart. Mary me, all y'all._


	7. Deal

**A/N:** Alright folks, I am just having way too much fun with these characters. Do you know, when I first sat down to write this thing Aurora and Philip were really just supposed to cameo? And then Rora grabbed me by the throat and sang sweetly into the muse ear on my left side. Dag-gone. *le sigh* I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of the fabulously fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for playtime.

* * *

**Deal**

Dawn shut her front door quietly and peered out of the little curtained window. She watched as he walked casually down her drive towards town, his shoulders were relaxed and he had his thumbs hooked in the loops of his jeans. She turned away from the window and slid down the door until she sat heavily on the floor of her little foyer. How could things have changed so quickly? She simply couldn't seem to wrap her brain around it.

Her happiness was a red balloon that just wouldn't stop growing in her chest, it was so bright and yet so delicate. Dawn drew her knees as closely to her chest as she could and hugged them tightly, she was glad no one was around to witness her manic smile. Suddenly her mouth opened and music spilled from it to glitter and waver in the air. It was an old song that she couldn't remember learning, something that she had been carrying around in her heart forever it seemed. There were few words but they were all of amazement and hope. "I wonder . . . I wonder . . . I wonder why each little bird has a love song . . ."

When the song was done and broken away from her lips to wind through the house, she sighed heavily and leaned her head back on the door. Perhaps someone was finally bringing back a love song to _her_.

"Dawn?" asked a voice quietly. Dawn jerked abruptly awake from her reverie to find Katherine peering around the doorway to the living room. How could she have forgotten? She wasn't alone anymore, she couldn't sing whenever she wanted! Dawn slapped her hands over her mouth in a poor attempt to draw the song back. Her cheeks flushed, the rest of her face following suit. "Dawn that was . . ." Katherine seemed at a loss for words.

Dawn dutifully helped her out. "Shrill? Annoying? Completely unwarranted?"

"_Lovely_," said Katherine reverently. She walked slowly to Dawn and sat down gently next to her friend by the door. "Dawn, I had no idea . . . we always went to The Fish on Friday nights, but you never—"

"Because no one would wanna hear that. Come on Kath you don't have to be nice about it," snorted Dawn derisively. She continued on, stopping Katherine from protesting. She was embarrassed enough, she didn't need Kath making it worse for them both. "About The Drowned Fish . . . I have a favor to ask you . . ."

Katherine sighed at her roommate, Dawn had a feeling this subject was far from being dropped. "Okay, shoot."

Dawn fidgeted, unsure how to broach this subject. She was in new and uncharted territory here. "So, I know it's been a while since you've been out . . . but do you think you're up to going to The Fish with me on Friday night?" she finally asked quickly. She figured if she got it over with fast, like ripping off a bandage, it wouldn't hurt as much when Kath said no.

Katherine eyed her suspiciously. "What brought this on? If I'm not mistaken, you yourself haven't been there in a good long while either . . ."

Dawn blushed scarlet again and tucked a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. "Well . . . see, I ran into Paul today, and he . . . uh . . ." she mumbled, not quite certain this had been such a good idea after all. Maybe he hadn't meant it like she thought he had. Maybe he was just being nice, like he usually was.

"Oh my God, did he ask you out?" squealed Katherine. Dawn was a little taken aback, she hadn't been aware that Katherine _could_ squeal, like an excited teenage girl.

"No, no," objected Dawn hastily. She didn't want her friend getting the wrong idea. But still he _had _said . . . "He said he hadn't seen me at The Fish in a while," she started, swallowing around a dry patch that had begun to spread in her throat. It was only Tuesday and she was already nervous.

"And . . . ?" pressed Katherine as she leaned significantly against Dawn's shoulder. Dawn fleetly took to her feet and headed towards the kitchen. She had to put just a little distance between herself and Katherine, the other woman's excitement was catching and she simply couldn't risk that. Katherine nearly bounded into the kitchen, her eyes shining and a silly grin on her face.

Dawn took slow, steady breaths, don't get all worked up. He was just being _nic_e. "And he said if I was going to be there on Friday he. . . he said he'd like to buy me a drink. Or something like that. No big deal," Dawn waved her hand dismissively.

Katherine narrowed her eyes at Dawn, oh God she knew. "Un uh, that's not everything. There's more to this. Spill. Now," she demanded.

"He may or may not have walked me home," said Dawn softly as she set to making a strong pot of tea, filling the kettle with enough water to hydrate a full platoon. Spending so much time with Rose and Mr. Gold was rubbing off of her. She couldn't seem to drink enough tea anymore.

Katherine caught on to her intent and grabbed Dawn's scrubby tea pot and two mismatched mugs. "Oh sweetie, this is so exciting. And of course I'll go with you on Friday. You know what this means? We're going to have to go—"

Dawn's doorbell ringing dismally interrupted Katherine's excited deluge of comments. And just in time too, in Dawn's opinion. She was almost certain that the next word out of Kath's mouth was going to be 'shopping.' She shuddered mentally just thinking about it.

And then Dawn's mind suddenly stopped. She wasn't expecting anyone. And it was way too early for the Girl Scouts to be selling cookies. That really only left . . . "Oh my God. It's the mayor," she whispered softly.

Out of the corner of her eye Dawn saw Katherine go still as a statue. Dawn frowned at the other woman, completely nonplussed by the glare that had appeared on Katherine's face. "Kath, honey are you okay? I thought you and the mayor . . . ?"

"Later," Katherine said tersely then swept from the kitchen to take refuge in the guestroom.

Dawn shrugged and shook her head as the doorbell sounded again, followed by an impatient knocking. Yes, it must be the mayor. Dawn jogged lightly to the front door, paused to take as reassuring a breath as possible and opened the door. of course, she wished she could slam it shut in the mayor's face immediately upon opening it. She didn't think she would ever forget the way Regina had savored Rose's captivity.

"Dr. Thornhill, I'm glad to see you in good health," said Mayor Mills as she brushed past Dawn into the foyer.

"Hello, Regina. Yes, please come in," said Dawn in consternation as she shut the door. The Mayor rounded on Dawn, a stern frown on her face.

"I don't appreciate that tone, Dawn. You are in serious trouble and I am here to try and fix it," said Regina acidly. She put her hands in her light spring jacket and looked down her nose at Dawn, something she had never done before. Dawn had been well aware of the Mayor's prickliness, but as she had been friends with Katherine and thus, by default, friends with Dawn it had never been an issue. Now Dawn understood implicitly what the others in town had been complaining about. This woman was . . . _wicked_.

Unexpectedly a surge of adrenaline sang through Dawn's veins. Some part of her, deep inside, knew that she deserved more respect than she had ever been shone. She had _done_ things in her life . . . her head swam momentarily. She knew she had done something amazing, but she couldn't remember what it was. She shook her head to clear it. "In trouble? No Madame Mayor, I'm not the one in trouble. Go on and threaten me the way you do everyone else in this town. You can go ahead and have my license revoked, ruin my reputation, I don't care," Dawn spat in a strong voice she hadn't known she possessed.

Dawn took a step closer to the Mayor, and she wondered briefly if she was insane. "I will stand by my decision. I saw how the girl was treated. She is in far better hands than yours, and if you think you can get her thrown back into that rot box you call a psych ward, you are sorely mistaken."

Regina's eyes glinted with malice and excitement. Crap, that couldn't be good. "You know where she is," said the Mayor softly, her voice laced with poison and triumph. She closed the distance between herself and Dawn, their faces scant inches from each other's. "Tell me . . . _where is Rose_?" she snarled.

Dawn felt her anger peak, "Never."

The kettle on the stove whistled, breaking the strange power struggle between the ENT doctor and the Mayor. Regina stepped away from Dawn slowly. It was an old trick, one to leave Dawn feeling she had won, that she was dominant to Regina. Dawn didn't buy it for a second.

"Very well, I see you've chosen to be difficult on the matter. I'll just have to take this up with Dr. Whale. And . . . I _will_ find her. Don't be mistaken about that," threatened the Mayor darkly. She swept from Dawn's house, veritably slamming the door shut behind her.

As the last vestiges of adrenaline left her Dawn found that standing was proving to be one of the more difficult tasks she had to perform today. Her knees finally gave out and she plopped onto the floor. "Oh God, we're so screwed."

* * *

Belle placed her fists solidly on her hips and swept her gaze over her dominion. It was starting to make some serious progress. She had tried to reorganize the front room completely, dusted and scoured, and employed her newest favorite non-magical item to its full extent: the vacuum cleaner. And so now, after several hours, she had wrestled the room into some sense of order.

She only wished she was having the same amount of luck with _other_ things in the house. They were dancing again. He was kinder and gentler now than he had ever been, but still he would skip just out of reach. Of course not literally, she had found that in this strange world he limped heavily and used a cane to help him along. But for all that he had not so much as let her bump into him while cleaning, he might as well have been jumping about as he used to.

She sighed and turned to the last part of the room that needed to be attacked, a large curio with glass doors and filled to bursting with the oddest assortment of knick-knacks. She advanced with her dust rag and a can of aerosol spray that smelled astringently of lemons. Belle threw open the glass front doors and deftly wound the rag around the odd assortment of trinkets, using extra care with this particular collection. If it was fragile, easy to lose, or vastly powerful, it was in this curio.

She smiled as she recognized nearly every oddment in the case. She was careful to run the black crow's feather through the dust rag as quickly as possible to minimize the height she floated from the floor. Belle remembered well the day Rumpelstiltskin had come home from that particular deal. The feather must have aided in travel to the Dark Castle, but upon entering the front hall it had proved a different matter.

Other marvels she avoided like the plague. A bright red egg pulsed ominously and never seemed to gather any dust that warned her away from its hidden power. Directly beside the egg there was a brass knob that appeared as though it had belonged on a pole or even a bed's footboard that Belle never had and never would touch. The layer of dust upon the knob said very clearly that this particular item didn't really need to be cleaned either, unless of course she had a desire to be transported countless miles away.

Belle reached for a crudely carved wooden box that she didn't recollect when the chime to the front door sounded. Today was Friday and, honestly, she hadn't expected her devoted companion to visit today. But when Belle opened the front door, there was the good doctor, a large paper bag in hand. "I didn't think you would stop by today. Don't you have more . . . pressing matters to deal with?" asked Belle coyly as she admitted her friend to enter.

Rumple had been right, it was far easier to simply abolish names as thoroughly as she could. She hadn't had a slip up all week. But try as she might, she could not stop thinking of the bright-faced, curved doctor as Aurora. The young woman in question toted the bag into the front room, following Belle closely. She dropped the bag with obvious relief on the floor and plopped down into the well-worn settee.

"Oh Rose, this has been the worst day _ever_. But on the bright side it can only get better, right?" asked the blonde as she threw her head back and covered her eyes with her arms. Belle tried to hide her giggle at her friend's dramatic display of surrender. The blonde pushed the bag closer to Belle with her foot without even looking up. "By the way, these are yours."

Belle sat lightly on an ottoman and dragged the bag closer to her and began to paw through it with ardor. "Mine? I don't understand," she said softly as she combed her hands through what seemed to be a dozen outfits in the strange style people in this town wore. She picked up a blue dress with tiny white spots splashed all over it and held it to her shoulders, appraising how it would fit.

"Of course yours, I couldn't wear anything that small. Your, well I guess 'guardian' is a pretty good word for him. He called me at my office on Wednesday and asked me to pick up a few things for you. Said that I would probably pick better than he would," said Aurora as she finally sat up and moved closer so that she could pick out certain pieces from the bag for approval.

Belle stood up and held the pretty blue dress to her shoulders and was immediately flabbergasted by its hemline. "They're lovely," she began warily, aware of the doctor's shrewd gaze. "They're just, uh . . . shorter than I'm used to," she finished softly, a wide grin and bright flush on her face.

Aurora put a hand to her mouth, ineffectually trying to hide her grin. "Okay, I'm sorry about that. But I literally couldn't help myself," she shrugged lamely. "Call me a hopeless romantic but I thought I would give you a little . . . nudge in a more proactive direction," said the blonde as she picked up a diaphanous white top with wide, soft ruffles at a neckline that just _plunged_.

If Belle could blush any more, she was sure she would have at that moment. And then she took another quick glance at the clothing. The hem of the dress would allow more than just her ankles to be visible; a fair amount of calf would also blatantly be on display. Rumpelstiltskin always had everyone on their toes. All the time. He was five steps ahead of everyone in this bizarre game he played. Perhaps it was high time to turn the tables on him.

Belle smiled smugly to herself at the thought then beamed brightly at her friend. "Thank you for bringing these. I love them all," said Belle as she hugged Aurora tightly. She sat back on the ottoman keeping her hands firmly on her friend's shoulders. "Now tell me why this day has been the worst day _ever_."

The blonde sighed and rolled her eyes. "I've been shopping with Katherine," she muttered darkly. "Unless it's for other people, I hate shopping. I took the day off from work to finish picking up a couple pieces for you and Katherine decided to tag along."

Belle frowned at her friend, "What's so bad about shopping with Katherine?" Belle hadn't met Aurora's friend and roommate, but she had heard enough about her to know that Aurora loved having her friend to stay.

The blonde doctor waved her hand dismissively and hauled herself from the settee. "She just gets so enthusiastic. I'm still a little dizzy after trying on just about every dress in that damned store," Aurora mumbled as she adjusted her light grey jacket and headed towards the door. It frustrated Belle to no end that even in this world her friend refused to wear nothing flattering. She had a feeling that she and Katherine combined might be able to make the stubborn doctor see the light.

Belle rose and followed her friend to the foyer; she opened the door and leaned heavily on it. "I guess I can understand that. But she made you pick a pretty dress didn't she?" asked Belle astutely.

Aurora's immediate flush to her cheeks was confirmation enough. She sighed before she exited. "Sure, it's pretty now, but I'm not so sure about it after I wear it. The poor thing may have to be put down to put it out of its misery," she lamented.

Belle pushed heavily on the blonde's shoulder, "That is patently untrue, and just you wait. I am certain that at least one person will appreciate you in it tonight. I stake my life on it."

Aurora giggled bashfully, "Yeah maybe."

"Have fun. Be yourself. You cannot fail that way," said Belle sagely as Aurora hugged her goodbye and headed towards her house on the edge of the forest.

Once she had closed and safely locked the door, Belle dashed, _dashed_ into the front room to grab the large paper bag. It was nearly five-thirty; she had only minutes to spare before her plan would be deemed useless. She vaulted up the stairs to her bedroom, not even bothering to close the door. She tipped the bag onto the bed and rummaged through the clothes until her fingers closed around the spotted dress she had picked out earlier. The fabric was silky and soft, and the skirt poofed a little from a sewn-in crinoline. She held it up high and examined it carefully before shedding the old grey sweatpants she had been wearing almost constantly since her liberation, and the shirt she had stolen from Rumpelstiltskin's closet.

She knew it amused him to see her in his clothes, but this dress? She hoped it would do more than amuse him. She pulled it over her head then threw the furniture cloth off of the vanity mirror so that she could twitch and pinch at the fabric, making it lie obediently. It was a soft blue, like the grey blue of the ocean that had roared near her father's castle. And with the bright white little dots, it looked as though someone had made a dress out of the twilit sky. The neckline was square, revealing the bright white of her chest. Belle frowned, wishing there was some way to hide the ugly line across her skin.

She shook her head to dismiss it from her mind; it did no good to wish in this world. Belle sighed regretfully and ran her fingers through her hair, untangling her unruly curls from the gold chain of her mother's necklace. Happy with her hair, she adjusted the little cap sleeves and twitched the full skirt one more time before she headed back down the stairs, not even bothering to put on socks. She danced, barefoot and happy, across the foyer and back to the curio she had been cleaning out earlier.

Belle found the place she had left off at and continued to run the dust rag over the knickknacks. She picked up the ancient-looking wooden casket she didn't recognize and began to clean out its carved design with the lemony spray. Suddenly the box began to hum against her fingers. She knew she shouldn't. Curiosity had always been one of her weaknesses and had been excruciatingly hard to ignore while in his employ before. But things were different here now, weren't they? She held her breath and opened the box.

She immediately wished she hadn't.

There, lying on a bed of coarse canvas was a pair of blue wings that shimmered with light. Fairy wings. From a fairy. A fairy who didn't have her wings anymore. A fairy who couldn't fly and grant wishes anymore. Belle swallowed and prayed that the poor creature wasn't dead. She closed the box gently and placed it reverently back into the curio.

And then, because this is how all indulgences to curiosity end, Belle noticed the two trinkets that had lain next to the box on the shelf. A golden wand, not unlike those used by _fairies_ glittered under its thin veil of dust. Beside it was a long and thin spiral, dark as night and utterly beautiful and lethal in appearance at the same time. Oh seven hells, she really did have to keep an eye on him from now on. The Gods only knew what he had been up to in those years she hadn't been there to keep him a little in check.

Belle nearly jumped from her skin when she heard the rasp of a key turning in the front door. Without hesitation she grabbed the little wooden box from the shelf, hid it behind her back and elbowed the curio's doors shut. She turned to face the door to the front room, schooling her features into a smile.

When Rumpelstiltskin stepped tiredly into the front room and caught sight of her in the dress, her false smile was replaced by one that was far more genuine. His approach arrested and a look of awe appeared on his face. She had been right, this dress was _dangerous_. As he seemed to be unable to move, Belle decided to instigate the situation a little further. She sauntered over to him, swinging her hips lazily.

Belle smiled sweetly as she took one hand from behind her back and laid her fingers gently on his chin. She snapped his mouth shut with a light click, as she 'tutted' softly. "I assume you like the dress?" she asked triumphantly.

Rumpelstiltskin took a long lock of her hair and twined it about his fingers, almost absently, for he could not take his eyes from hers. "Very much so, dearie," he confirmed, his voice husky and deeper than usual, his rich accent had thickened perceptibly. Belle swallowed the purr that wanted to hum past her lips, she didn't want to push him too fast for fear he would head for the hills. She stepped away from him slowly and allowed him to enter into the front room.

"You know you don't have to clean anymore. You're not my prisoner and neither are you my housekeeper any longer Belle," said Rumple as he dragged a long finger across the, now quite clean, surface of a side table.

Belle smiled indulgently at him. "I am not about to live in a house of filth, no matter how well I like you," she said as she approached him and set the wooden box gently on the table. "Though you have filled your end of our bargain far beyond my satisfaction, it appears we have something a little more pressing to talk about first," she said sternly as she tapped the box pointedly.

His sharp intake of breath was not reassuring. His face blanked, and she knew immediately that he was going to attempt to close her out. "It's nothing dearie. They were payment for a deal in which the . . . ah _fairy_ in question was not harmed," he said softly. He didn't disappoint.

"Belle," she growled tersely between gritted teeth. "At least say my name when you're going to lie to me. Maybe then I'll start to believe them."

Rumpelstiltskin's shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily on his cane. He looked to the floor. "Belle that was no lie, you know very well I can lie better than that. That particular fairy is still around to cause as much grief as she can," he admitted.

Belle frowned and stormed towards the curio. She grabbed the wand and the long spiral, feeling a similar buzz radiate into her hands from each item. She placed them gently next to the box. "And what about _this_ fairy? And this poor beast?" she demanded, gesturing at his dangerous prizes.

His jaw clenched. "They are necessary evils. And they are epically intrinsic to our predicament. There is so much you don't understand. You _cannot_ understand," he snapped.

A red haze clouded her vision as she felt her mind detach from her body. _Well this is new_, she thought from far away. It was then she realized that she had never been quite as angry as she was in that moment. It was also then that her palm slapped smartly across his face.

* * *

He deserved that. He knew quite well that he did. And she could rail and rant all she wanted, but he was not about to get her mixed up in his own destructive yet reconstructive agenda. Belle was too good a person to become involved in a plot like this. But the coward in him cringed at the fury on her face.

"You think I can't handle the truth of this, is that it?" Belle snarled at him.

Rumpelstiltskin clamped his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth together painfully to try and reel in his fizzing anger. He frowned sternly at her, "Belle, this is a horrible business. I don't want you involved in this whole sordid affaire if I can help it. This is a horrific plan, I don't want—"

"I see," she interjected as she stepped into him. Her nearness, even in anger and especially in that new dress of hers (Good Gods where had that little doctor found this . . . _fetching_ ensemble?), was not something he wanted to risk, and so found himself retreating away from her. She continued to force him to withdraw, her advances more aggressive than he had ever seen them. "You think that I'm too fine a lady to know such evils as you're up to _Rumpelstiltskin_," she chewed his name up and spat it out. "Think that I could not possibly conceive of the horrors you have seen or committed, _will_ see, _will_ commit!"

His knees met unceremoniously with the edge of the settee, compelling him to fall gracelessly onto the seat. His eyes widened as Belle yanked at the neckline of her pretty new dress baring an even wider expanse of her chest. Rumpelstiltskin was appalled and infuriated to find that the long scar she sported ran even further than he had imagined. It snaked from her collarbone across the luminous skin of her chest to slant down into her armpit.

"Well you've paid your, price now you'll get what you wanted," she quarreled. "When I left I went back to my father's castle, hoping to forget you. Forget everything," said Belle lowly, ill-hidden malice lacing her words. "He welcomed me back with open arms, but he saw how _miserable_ I was without you. How I would pine over you and never speak your name. He thought I was under a _spell_," she explained flatly.

Belle closed her eyes tightly, trying to compose herself. He wanted to reach out to her, wipe away the fear and the pain. He stopped himself, his hand half-risen to her arm. When she opened those striking blue eyes again, Rumpelstiltskin found them clouded over with hate, her face grim. "He thought he was doing right by me. He sent the _good cleric_, Claude Frollo to me. To rid me of the demon that haunted me. Frollo had me confined to my tower room, had me fed on bread and water. He tried to purge my soul with every tool at his disposal. By the time my father discovered what he was doing, Frollo had already left his mark," she said quietly as she finally sat beside him.

She twisted her left arm so that the underside faced him. A ragged and thick scar he had not notice before cut across her forearm. He reached out his hand to her, tentatively ghosted his fingers along the white line. He saw her shudder, but he could not stop himself. He took her other arm and turned it gently. His stomach plummeted when he found a mate on this arm as well. He finally met her eyes, and found that her image swam strangely in his sight.

"They look like they came from—"

"A lash, yes. He called it his 'little cat,' his . . . _enthusiasm_ was almost more terrifying than actually being scourged," she whispered darkly, her eyes wide with fright.

Rumpelstiltskin laughed darkly, "I don't usually underestimate that woman. Damned if she doesn't know that the best lies have a little truth in them." His eyes slipped shut gently as she reached a hand up to wipe her fingers gently beneath his eyes. Dampness sparkled on the skin of his cheeks. He was crying. He opened his eyes and found her gazing at him sadly.

"If she told you that they beat me . . . that they tried to break me, she was right," she admitted quietly. The poison in her features and the anger in her eyes had slowly leeched away. He tried to stop himself but he found it impossible as he reached out to her once more and let his fingers slide along the scar at her breastbone. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, shivering lightly. He wondered absently if it was from his touch or from her memory.

"There's one more at my back, the holy star," she said quietly.

He frowned in awe, "H-how? How did you . . . ?"

"Survive? Stay sane?" she laughed darkly. Belle shook her head lightly, her shining curls curtaining her face for a moment. "I had a token. A token from home," she said at last, grinning ruefully.

"From _home_?" he muttered. "May I ask what it was?" he implored as he leaned away from her. She was distracting him with her clean scent and her vulnerability. He had to keep a firm rein in his hand around her.

She winked at him, some of her playfulness returning at last. "All in due time, Rumple," she promised, and he _believed_ her. "Well, as I'm sure you can imagine I had quite gotten my fill of my father's castle. He had dismissed Frollo, but everywhere I turned were memories that hurt so much I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to let anyone know I had gone and so I escaped through my tower window into a bale of hay. It seems as though my hasty departure was not wholly unseen," she muttered darkly. Belle looked him squarely in the eye, like she always had, "I would never have jumped. I had too much to live for, even if neither of us wanted to admit it." She held her hand out to him and he cleaved to it as a sinner to his last redemption.

"Where did you go?" he asked, desperate to hear her story, desperate to be part of the life he had denied himself.

She smiled brightly, "Everywhere."

Rumpelstiltskin found her smile impossible not to return and one of his own ghosted on his lips. "You always did say you had wanted to see the world," he admitted, his voice dark with regret. He had denied her so much . . .

Belle nodded, "I went all over the land. I made friends with most unlikely people. I survived on my own, for the first time in my life." Her gaze turned to something far away and she smiled happily at the memory it brought her. When she looked again at him the melancholy she could not hide returned. "But I realized that no matter where I went, I would never be home. Not unless _you_ were there."

It was too much. He threw himself into her arms, clasped her to him and hung on for dear life. They held each other like that for what seemed to be an eternity that wasn't nearly long enough. He slowly pulled himself away, hating the cold that invaded him in the absence of her heart beating against his. "And then the _Queen_," he said acidly.

Belle pursed her lips tightly, her nostrils flared wide and she nodded. "She captured me, threw me in her dungeon to rot. I suppose I was to be a . . . a bargaining chip or a pawn at some point. Something to use against you. I am quite thankful that she didn't get her chance," she said stonily.

Rumpelstiltskin brushed a hand across Belle's cheek, tucked her unruly hair behind her ear. "I daresay it would have worked too," he admitted darkly. "I would have paid _any_ price to see you alive, well, and free."

"I don't know how long she had me captured before we came here. I had not thought to count the days. And then one day the light in my cell changed, the cell itself was different. My clothes," even now she looked flabbergasted as she described her strange journey to this equally strange world. "And for a moment I thought I was someone else. I suppose that's who I was supposed to be in this place. But I grabbed my token and those memories . . . simply disappeared," she said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Rumpelstiltskin touched the tiny locket on the delicate gold chain that he knew had been her mother's. She shook her head and brushed her long hair onto her shoulder. He caught a glimpse of something shimmering in her curls and was floored when she produced a tiny plait of hair at the nape of her neck that had been threaded with a poorly spun golden thread. He held it with his thumb and trigger finger, careful not to pull her hair as he ran the little braid along his fingers. He recognized this thread.

Rumpelstiltskin remembered every centimeter of gold thread he had ever spun, each one imbued with a horror or memory he could not hold onto any longer . . . except for _this_ length. "I was distracted," he whispered. "You had fallen from that wretched ladder, and when I sat down to spin again . . . I have never spun a more pitiful length of thread than I did that day. All I could think of was you."

"It seems as though Fate, has our story by the throat, doesn't she?" giggled Belle lightly.

He smiled at her, "I daresay she does."

"Now you know," she said, suddenly serious once more. "Tell me. Please, _let me in_."

He filled his lungs slowly, "I will. I promise you I will tell you everything you ask of me. But please, not now."

She nodded sadly. Rumpelstiltskin took Belle's hand once more and squeezed it reassuringly. "I swear it Belle. But we've had enough sadness today, haven't we?"

She smiled crookedly at him, that coy smile he loved so well. "I suppose. How about I fix us some tea?" she said decisively as she rose from the settee.

He inclined his head in acquiescence. "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

"And as I was cleaning today I found just the cup to serve it in."

* * *

**A/N:** Can you believe it, a whole chapter all in Storybrooke! I can barely believe it myself. This one was abominably long but I just HAD to get this all in one segment otherwise I would have left you all with the biggest cliffy ever, and I've been told that can be mean. I am not mean. Stonington, thank you so much for your support and constructive criticism, I'll try to be more careful from now on. And Marquesa de Santos, thank you very much for your enthusiasm, your reviews were a blast to read! And as for my darling Lark, thank you for your review, my little Beta has made me SO happy! And again thank to everyone who has added and alerted this story, I'm so happy I could just burst! To all of you sitting on the fence about reviewing, come on in the water's great! I usually don't bite and I'd love to hear from you. Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: TheOneOffAccount/Kazza, and the number: Deal. It's a single by a FABULOUSLY talented artist on youtube whom you can find by the first name. The second name is her iTunes name under which you can find her fabulous song for SALE! Grabbed that sucker SO fast.


	8. Love Me Tender

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait. This chapter wound up being so long that I had to split it up some! Hopefully it worked as well as I thought it would. Anyways, I hope it's worth the wait! Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of the fabulously fleshed out characters in it . . . I'm just borrowing them for playtime.

* * *

**Love Me Tender**

The Drowned Fish seemed to be more crowded than usual, and Paul gasped in hopes of filling his lungs with air. But then again Paul couldn't seem to catch his breath in any room that Dawn was present in no matter how many other people shared it with them, regardless if it was packed to bursting or near on empty. He felt a little guilty thinking of her as Dawn and not Dr. Thornhill, they barely knew one another. But he couldn't stop himself now, he'd thought of her as Dawn for _years_. He would call her by her first name, even to her face in hopes that one day she would catch on.

Paul sat back in his chair heavily as he eyed her from across the room; she and David Nolan's ex had just walked in. The lights of The Fish were magic for her; they glowed on her skin and sparkled in her eyes, making her look even prettier. And he felt absolutely inadequate. Who was he trying to fool? What would a doctor, a successful and well-liked doctor, see in a simple gardener? Paul felt an elbow in his rib and winced. Jim was leaning heavily into his personal space and pointing rather overtly at the door.

"Finally gonna grow a pair and buy that girl a drink?" he asked Jim bluntly, his gaze narrowed on the gardener. Paul sighed, he liked hanging out with the school's Phys Ed teacher, he was easy going and usually pretty upbeat. The one major drawback was that for all he played with little kids and sports equipment all day, the man was like a laser when it came to certain things.

Paul took a fortifying slug from his beer and smiled at Jim. "You know I was going to let her breathe a bit first, but why the hell not?" he said as he pushed himself away from the table to walk the short distance to the bar. "But hey man, you're not really one to talk. The fact that you've been looking at _her_ forever and never talked to her . . . oh and you're even the one who found out she was missing! But you don't seem to have a pair either, unless of course you're finally going to go over there and tell her you love her," quipped Paul as he leaned on the bar and looked at Jim over his shoulder.

Jim's shoulders tensed and he dragged his beer closer to him across the table. "It's not like I had much of a choice Paul. She was married. Not the same issue _you_ have, which seems to be a lack of spine," he said darkly.

"Yeah well, she's not married _now_, is she?" goaded Paul as he smiled at Jim's back. He turned back to the bar and called out for the bartender. _Oh goody_, Doris was doling out the charm and booze herself. Wasn't it some sort of unwritten perk that if you owned the joint, you didn't have to wait tables or tend the bar?

The large, older woman oozed behind the bar towards Paul, a devious smile on her lips. She deftly adjusted her highly styled, short, white hair and leaned in close to Paul. He shuddered a little; there was always something about this woman he couldn't stand. She smiled wider, "What can I get for you Paul?" she schmoozed, her deep voiced was rasped and worn and completely at odds with the oddly fluid way she moved.

Paul swallowed back his distaste and smiled at Doris. "A Guinness, for my friend over there," he said casually jerking his thumb in the direction of Dawn and Katherine's table.

Doris eyed the two blondes with open admiration, a glint of mischief in her eye. "Taking it over yourself, or shall I call Lyra over?" asked Doris saucily. The lights from the bar caught on her purple sequined top making her look like a very unpleasant and definitely oversized tropical fish. "Lyra!" called the older woman, an unpleasant lilt in her smoky voice.

"No, no you don't have to do that, Doris, I can take it myself. Really . . ." he floundered as the tiny redhead waitress sidled up to the bar, masterfully balancing a wide tray with several glasses in various states of emptiness. Paul felt a little ill when Doris reached over the bar and hooked a chubby finger into Lyra's belt loop, leering at her unabashedly as she reeled her in closer to the bar like the catch of the day.

Doris grinned wickedly at the girl and wound her chubby fingers around a loose lock of Lyra's flaming hair. "My dearest, I have a little task for you," she purred as she let the girl go reluctantly to busy herself pouring the stout. Doris winked at Paul as she slid the filled glass along the bar for Lyra to catch. With practiced ease the tiny redhead grabbed the glass before it plummeted to the ground and set it on her crowded tray. "Actually two. Tell Brendan, that he can set up the system and break out the sign-ups, it's almost eight. And take that beer to Katherine over there—"

"No, no," Paul interjected hastily. Damn, that would have been awkward to explain away to _multiple_ parties, he thought darkly. He turned to Lyra, "Please, it goes to Dawn—uh Dr. Thornhill," he said conspiratorially to Lyra who grinned broadly at him and winked, whisking off towards the blondes' table. At some point in time Ruby had shown up, still in her waitressing outfit from Granny's, sans the apron, and had joined Katherine and Dawn's table.

"Really?" sneered Doris as she leaned heavily on the bar to intrude over Paul's shoulder. "I mean, _really?_" she intoned a little incredulously. Paul didn't even bother to look at her, he knew she had a wicked smirk on her face, and he didn't care a whit. Lyra had placed the dark stout in front of Dawn purposefully, a knowing smile on her face. Ruby leaned across the doctor and asked something of Lyra who smiled more widely and pointed across the room to where Paul was standing.

All three women looked sharply across the room at him, surprise on only one of their faces. He waved lightly at Dawn who blushed. And it was enchanting. He found a nonchalant smile and nod was totally beyond him as his face nearly split in two from euphoria. He was a man transfixed as he watched her blush deepen. Dawn raised her glass and inclined her head in thanks while Ruby nudged Dawn's shoulder with her own, and Katherine gave him a none too subtle grin of approval.

"You could aim a _little _higher," sneered Doris behind him. Paul rounded on her, his anger flaring dangerously.

"_Excuse_ me?" he asked icily. Doris shrugged, a patronizing grin revealing how cold her fish's heart really was. She picked up a towel and wiped at a spill on the bar.

The older woman sighed heavily. "Come on now, it's not like I have anything against girls with curves," she drawled and gestured blatantly at herself. "But Dawn? She's just so . . . plain. Boring. You're absolutely out of her league, and she knows it. It's actually kind of mean, Paul."

Paul called himself twelve kinds of fool but still leaned closer to the old witch, feeling like he was having a conversation where he didn't even speak the language. He looked back once more at Dawn, she was sipping her beer and arguing heatedly with Katherine. His heart kicked up a few notches, anger was a good look on her. As long as it wasn't aimed at him. He turned back to Doris who was scrutinizing him. "Mean? Doris, you're making less sense than usual."

The old cougar snorted unladylike, "Paul, what do you think is gonna happen to that girl when you're done with her? Do you think she's gonna move on like a normal person? She's plain, at best. She's not very sociable, and she's overweight. You'll be the time of her life and then where'll she be?"

"You have a pretty jaded view of relationships, Doris. Aren't bartenders supposed to be wiser than this, give good advice instead of pouring poison in people's ears?" snapped Paul. "What makes you think that I'm that kind of guy?" he muttered, having a harder time reining in his anger the longer he stood there. What was he doing, why was he wasting his time with this poor excuse for a human being?

"Please Paul. When it comes to that girl, you're all the same," she rasped, her deep voice grating on his ears. "She's not in anybody's league, the kid they pick last in gym. Because at the end of the day she's just practice, not the real game," she chuckled darkly and Paul gripped his beer glass until his knuckles hurt. "She's not even pretty."

And then something snapped in Paul. "You're right, she's not pretty. _She's beautiful_," he snarled at the old hag. He turned from the bar and headed towards his table. He knocked back the last of his beer, slammed the glass down on his table next to Jim and made a beeline for Dawn's table. He ignored Jim's calls to him as he strode confidently towards the table across the bar. The lights shifted slightly and the screens around the bar's small dais flickered to life. By the time he had reached their table, karaoke night had officially kicked off.

Paul's anger fizzled away the nearer he drew to Dawn, his smile genuine and easy. Proximity to her in any capacity, in any location, at any time just made him feel . . . _happy_. He halted on the opposite side of the table from her and leaned heavily on his hands, the adrenaline draining from his system leaving him with nothing but his nervousness and hope. "I hope I got it right. I never asked, but I know you always used to order something dark," he said trying to sound nonchalant and confidant.

Dawn grinned and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She had it pinned up tonight, and while it was very pretty he wished she'd left it down. "Thanks, yeah. I like stouts. It's like drinking a loaf of bread," she babbled with a hesitant smile. Was she nervous? Doris' cynical comments about Dawn being the last girl anyone wanted hit him like a punch in the gut. Screw that old hag; he was going to do everything in his power to show Dawn that she was more than that. She was _first _in his eyes. She always had been.

Ruby shifted anxiously next to Dawn, peering over her shoulder out the bar's large front windows. Dawn elbowed Ruby pointedly. "Calm down, you won't miss him," chuckled Katherine as she rose from her seat, poking Ruby's shoulder playfully. Katherine gave Paul a deliberate sort of look as she walked towards the scene of traditional Friday night karaoke chaos.

"Miss who, Ruby?" asked Paul curiously as he slid into Katherine's vacated seat. His smile broadened as Dawn tried to hide a sudden smile at their increased proximity. He had to admit, he was pleased with himself. Maybe the lowly gardener actually had a shot with the halcyon doctor.

Ruby sighed dramatically, her highly made-up face turned towards the picture windows, and batted her epic false lashes in a lovelorn sort of way. "Oh no one," she breathed loftily.

"Liar. He's not no one. Definitely not to you, anyway," snorted Dawn into her glass. She lifted her eyes to Paul and smiled conspiratorially at him. She let the glass fall from her lips briefly as she mouthed "Archie Hopper," and winked.

The gardener blinked, taken aback. How had he not known about this? Gossip this juicy usually travelled at light speed in a town as small as Storybrook. His bewildered stare slowly slid from his face, leaving a devious sort of smile in its place that he was delighted to find Dawn sharing. "You know, Ruby," he said casually, drawing the flashy brunette's attention from the window. "It's not healthy to bottle up your emotions, your feelings. Do you maybe need to talk to someone about this?" he asked, trying his best to play the innocent choirboy while Ruby's eyes grew wide like saucers.

"I hear Dr. Hopper's taking new patients. Maybe you can set up an appointment," suggested Dawn slyly, quirking her brow brazenly at her friend.

"The hell with you two," snapped Ruby as she pushed herself away from the table and stormed off through the bar. Paul certainly didn't miss, and neither did Dawn it seemed, that Ruby's tromp took on a distinct swagger when Archie Hopper's form walked past the window. Ruby popped through the door, rubbed Pongo the Dalmatian rather affectionately on the head and clearly giggled at Archie's stunned expression.

As Ruby walked off with Archie swinging the psychiatrist's umbrella playfully, having taken it from his arm, Paul settled back in his chair and squared his focus on Dawn. She had a faraway look in her eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She was wearing make-up, definitely different for her, her lips were teasing him with their bright color and slight sparkle. "So what was all this about? Does Ruby really—?"

"Really," said Dawn softly as she turned to smile at him. "He walks Pongo all around town on Friday nights. And just about the time he started doing that Ruby started clocking out early at Granny's to _not_ wait for him to pass by the Fish," she said brightly. She rolled her eyes patronizingly, "She thinks he doesn't know what she's up to. She thinks _nobody_ knows what she's doing." She stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes.

A chuckle burst from Paul's lips at Dawn's antics. He scooted his chair closer to hers, subtlety be damned. "He'd have to be blind to not see how she feels about him. Especially when she's being so . . . forward about it," he said softly, leaning heavily on the table.

Dawn flushed and leaned away from him abruptly, suddenly looking everywhere but at him. "I wonder where Katherine is. I know she was doing exactly what I told her not to do. But it doesn't take that long to be obstinate," she grumbled darkly.

Paul sighed tiredly. Maybe another angle of attack? "What did you ask her not to do?" he asked inquisitively. Dawn went still, her pale face taking on a truly white pallor. She refused to look at him, instead turning her attention to Brendan Furst and his band revving up to play for the increasingly drunken group of exhibitionists that always showed up for karaoke at The Drowned Fish on Fridays.

"Nothing, s'not important. And anyway I think she's completely forgotten about it," babbled Dawn as she knocked back the last of her Guinness. Paul followed her gaze and found Katherine leaning nonchalantly on the bar while Jim smiled at her, clearly in worship. _Finally_, he thought exasperatedly. Katherine turned, having spotted them staring, and waved them over. Dawn stood and looked at him uncertainly. "I think I'm . . . we're being summoned. Up for an adventure?" she asked tentatively. Paul winked at her as he stood, grabbed her hand firmly in his and headed for their friends across the bar.

"Come, fair sweet. If adventure is what you wish, then it is what ye shall have!" he called with abandon, making heads turn and drawing a terrified sort of giggle from her.

"I think someone needs to be cut off," said Dawn with a chuckle when they had reached Jim and Katherine.

Paul played it up, addicted to Dawn's smile and laugh, the way it lit up her whole being not just her face. He bowed lightly at the waist, "Perhaps. I shall do as my lady wishes."

"Nice one. Who are you Errol Flynn?" asked Jim with a snort.

"I am offended. Errol wasn't any sort of actor, just a pretty face with a sword! He was no Olivier," said Paul grandiosely as he laid a hand on his chest and looked down his nose at the others.

"Exactly," laughed Dawn.

Paul couldn't quite hold back his grin. "Villains, all of you," he sneered with as much affront as he could muster.

"Well Paul may have to be cut off, but I know someone who's going to need another one," said Katherine mysteriously as she leaned across the bar and called for Doris to pour a house special. She spun and advanced on Dawn who suddenly looked terrified again. "I've got news for you sister, you're going fourth!" Katherine threatened with a wicked smile on her face.

Dawn blanched. "You didn't, Kath!" she whispered in terror. "Oh my God, the one thing I asked you not to do!"

Katherine shrugged unapologetically. "Hey, you've been selfish long enough. Time to share that gift you've got with everyone else," she said, her eyes narrowed. Dawn turned to stare at the stage in horror as Lyra walked into the lights to open Karaoke night like she did every week. Brendan's eyes followed the tiny ginger with such melancholy it almost hurt to look at him. He plucked a few notes on his bass and the redhead launched into song immediately, not even bothering to preface it. Her warm, low voice was melodic and alluring as she tackled 'Bye Bye Blackbird' with confidence.

Then it clicked. "Dawn, you can sing? Why haven't you been up there before?" he asked in thrall.

"_No I can't_," she said stubbornly, and stormed from the bar.

He turned to Katherine in confusion. "What the hell?" was just about all he could manage.

Katherine slumped defeated against the bar. "I was just trying to push her out of her comfort zone a little, you know? She always trudges around in those boring clothes and she never does anything spontaneous," she lamented. "I guess going shopping _and_ putting her up to karaoke in one day was a little much. But damn, I didn't even know she _could_ sing until a few days ago," she said vehemently.

"She really can sing? Like Lyra you mean?" asked Jim curiously leaning perceptively closer to Katherine on the bar.

The blonde shook her head. "Not like Lyra. Like a _bird_. All light and airy and pretty," she said in awe. "Oh well. Maybe if I get more than one drink in her, _before_ I tell her I signed her up, will be good enough to get her up there," she said reflectively.

"What did you put her down for, if I can ask?" broached Paul tentatively.

"Well its golden oldies night, so I figured she would have fun with something Elvis, you know? She plays him all the time at home," she said defensively as she waved her hand dismissively. "I was lucky too; no one had picked 'Love Me Tender'."

_Damn_, he didn't know the girl all that well but he _knew_ that Katherine had hit a nerve. Time to be a knight in shining armor. He just hoped he wouldn't fall off his horse. "Listen, I think Dawn's going to want to head home. Mind if I walk her?" asked Paul with badly concealed hope.

"Yeah, I can give you a lift home Kath if you want to stay for a while?" asked Jim, jumping at his own chance. _Atta boy, slugger_, thought Paul jovially.

"Um, yeah. Sure," said Katherine brightly as the two of them slightly turned in to one another. Paul could not have asked for a better moment to try and be the hero. He breezed along the bar, slapping some bills down in front of Doris before diving into the cool night air. A touch of something sweet scented the night, promise of warmer weather and flowers, but it was still early spring here in Maine.

He found her leaning against the front of the building, staring at the storefronts across the street without actually seeing them. She was so lovely and lonely and his heart ached in sympathy, if only she knew that she wasn't the only one who felt forgotten and pushed aside. But then, not being with the one you love can do that to a person.

Paul stopped abruptly. _Love?_ He frowned, examining his own thought process. When had _that_ word slipped into his mind? No he'd just had a Freudian slip, clearly. He_ liked_ Dawn. He always had, even when they had been at school together. Suddenly his head felt heavy and beleaguered as he tried to remember admiring her.

He _knew_ he had, he just couldn't seem to pull up the images. He must have looked at her across the hall and sighed a stupid schoolboy crush. That's how those things worked, right? He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Why couldn't he remember it? He shook his head as he brushed his ill ease aside and approached her. No sense dwelling on an alcohol induced memory gap.

He focused back on the girl at hand, the one who needed someone to talk to. His heart skipped at her form, standing defeated next to the wall, her light pink dress fluttering in the cool breeze. Color was good on this girl; it brought out the coral blush in her cheeks and made her skin glow in comparison, and the way it hugged the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts . . . Damn she really _was_ pretty, he thought as all the blood rushed from his head.

"Hey, I thought you might like a walk home?" asked Paul tentatively, tilting his head to try and get a better handle on her mood. He leaned on the building's façade next to her and peered at her face. He sighed inwardly when he saw that she wasn't crying. If she had been crying, he was certain he would have done something impetuous and supremely stupid, like kissing her to make her feel better.

She shook her head and that's when he saw the fire in her eyes. She looked at him slowly, her face livid with anger. "You know, I get it. I _really_ do. But just because I don't speak up all the time, or draw attention to myself doesn't mean I'm okay with people pushing me into things," she ranted, her voice had lost that musical lilt he liked so well, it was sharp and cold.

"I know that," he said simply.

Her face was guileless with surprise, "What?"

Paul shrugged and started to head down the street in the direction of her absurdly secluded residence. "I believe someone very famous said something like, 'Speak softly and carry a big stick,'" he supplied calmly.

"Wow, that is _completely_ out of context, but I kind of like it," said Dawn with a derisive chuckle as she followed him, keeping his stride with ease.

"So, not to badger the subject I guess, but can I ask why you don't want to sing your guts out in front of half the town, accompanied by Brendan's good but not great band?" he asked as he put his hands in his pockets and butted his shoulder against hers lightly.

Dawn laughed, the tension slowly lifting from her shoulders. "Come on, Paul. Don't be mean. Brendan's band isn't _that_ bad," she countered. "You know I think the reason I keep going back to that dive is so that I can be there the day he cracks and beats the tar out of Doris so he can have Lyra all to himself."

Paul laughed until his sides hurt. "Oh God, I know. If she hits on that poor little ginger any harder he's just gonna snap and go medieval on Doris' ass," he choked out between guffaws. As their laughter died down he hounded right back on her. She wasn't about to get off that easily. "As amusing as this conversation is becoming, I notice that you still haven't actually answered my question," he said slyly.

Dawn took a deep breath of cold spring air, seemingly resolved to actually answer him, "Because singing is _mine_. It makes me happy, and I want to keep it mine. Is that so _damn_ bad?" she asked defensively.

"No, it's not. But I also don't think that's really your reason," Paul replied easily. "I think you're just afraid to be admired," he said softly as they rounded the corner by Mr. Gold's pawnshop.

Dawn's head snapped in his direction. "What?" she choked.

Paul nodded his head firmly. "I think Katherine has you pegged. She says you always wear boring clothes, I had never thought about that before but she's right. Oh and by the way, I have to say that _this_ dress is . . . _very_ distracting. Good choice," he grinned wolfishly at her, drawing a blush to her cheeks. "You don't speak up when I know you _want_ to. And now you won't even let people hear you sing, no matter how well you sing or not," he leaned into her pointedly. "And rumor has it that you're pretty good at it."

"Well. I—"

"You're afraid to let people in. Am I right?"

"Because they just leave!" she snapped at him, her cheeks high with color.

Paul stopped, shocked at her admission. "Now that can't be true."

She laughed derisively as she stopped several feet away from him. "Yeah sure. Mom, my Aunt Mary, and even Kath was getting ready to leave. If she hadn't gotten kidnapped she'd be in Boston by now! What the hell is the point of letting people know me if they're just going to up and leave anyway?" she ranted, her arms restless and waving, a threat of tears in her eyes.

He went to her on impulse, pulling her into his arms and holding her fast to his heart. "Dawn, I . . . I'm sorry. I never would have said—"

"No, no. How were you supposed to know? I never let anyone in, right?" she laughed bitterly, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Before he realized what he was doing, Paul found that his hand had reached up to take the pins out of her hair. It tumbled down her shoulders to curl lightly at the tips, a dark gold cascade that glittered in the light of the streetlamps. He wrapped his fingers in it and drew her face up to his.

Her eyes ghosted closed as his breath washed over her face, "I'm not going anywhere, Dawn. I promise you that." He felt her sharp intake of breath just before he kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm and suddenly she was kissing him back as ardently as he was kissing her. She sighed into his mouth and he dove onto the invitation, exploring her mouth hungrily. He'd been thinking about this for far too long, if he wasn't careful he'd scare the daylights out of her.

He pulled away slowly, smiling lightly. Dawn was frowning, looking at something far away, or inwardly, he couldn't decide. "Dawn?" he asked tentatively.

She shook her head, rousing herself from whatever daydream had captured her. "I'm sorry, it's nothing," she said smiling softly. He wanted her to lull him into ignorance, but there was no way for her to hide the look of confusion and even fear in her face completely. She looked utterly spooked. Dawn stepped out of his embrace slowly, as reluctant for him to let her go as he was to let go. She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and immediately her familiar mask was firmly set in place. She looked like she was smiling and happy, but he wasn't that stupid.

"Thanks for uh . . . almost walking me home. But I think I've got it from here," she said firmly, bobbing her head awkwardly.

Paul felt like his brain was shutting down, what the _hell_ had just happened? How did that go so wrong so fast? "Dawn, it's not a problem, I can—"

"No, no it's fine. It's all good," she cut in hastily. "Thanks for the drink," she added before turning swiftly and retreating down the sidewalk, the petal pink fabric of her dress swirling dramatically and shifting in a despicable way as she hustled away from him.

Paul shook his head and snarled his fingers through his hair. _What in the hell just happened?_

* * *

_An explosion of water on Philip's right told him that Sampson had finally broken the surface of the lake. For a moment he had been stricken to think that his truest friend might not have survived the fall. Sampson whinnied loudly and struck out towards the rocky path until he found purchase and hauled himself from the water._

_Philip floated listlessly in the lake's cold water. At least he imagined it was cold, he couldn't really feel anything at all at the moment. He was caught quite off guard by the slap of Sampson's reins as they hit the water. Philip looked up to see his steed standing expectantly, his head lowered and his eye squarely fixed on the prince._

_Philip laughed grimly and grabbed the proffered reins, pulling himself out of the water while Sampson took several sure steps backwards to bring him up onto the path. He felt the process becoming more and more cumbersome with every pull of his muscles, he felt heavier, as if . . . Philip sprawled on the dusty ground, coughing and spluttering up what was left of the lake water in his lungs. He reached a hand tentatively to his hip and sure enough, the Sword of Truth had returned to him while he was escaping the lake. He wheezed a wet sigh of relief, oblivious as to _how_ the sword had returned, but not caring in the slightest. His body was drained and he felt like he could sleep for a week. But he couldn't stop, not now._

_He heaved himself slowly to his feet and threw his arms about Sampson's neck. He embraced the horse blithely and rested his head onto the grey's soaked neck. "Thank you, you wonderful beast. How very dead I would be without you to save my worthless hide," he breathed softly. Sampson nickered and tossed his head, shaking his wet mane and breaking the momentary spell of calm that had fallen on them. They walked shoulder to shoulder the rest of the way to the castle, halting at its steps. Philip took Sampson's bridle firmly in his hands, brought the horse's eye down to his, and spoke sternly._

"_Guard, Sampson. Keep watch. Come if I call. Take Rora far away from here if you can," he commanded of the horse. He knew that Sampson understood him like no one else could, he just prayed that he could play the watchdog this one time. Gods, get us through this, thought Philip reverently. If you do, I promise to be a good little prince the rest of my life and that horse will get a bucket of apples every day for the rest of his. He vaulted up the steps, taking two at a time, hoping that he could simply get in and out of the castle with far less obstacles than he'd had simply reaching its door._

_Philip muscled open the heavy wooden doors, shouldering his way into the castle at last. The great hall was spacious, grand with pillars and colored glass in its windows. He jogged across the great hall, one hand resting on the Sword of Truth and took to the stairs leading up to the dais. There were two stairwells to take him out of the hall, he just had to figure out which one would lead him to Aurora._

_When he reached the landing on the dais he paused, and listened. Maybe Rora was calling for help, or screaming, or crying. He strained his ears, but all he could make out was the twittering of birds winding down the stairwell to his right. Philip froze. Birdsong? In a castle? _

"Oh, well. I suppose Maleficent will just have to get used to her new little pet. Although I will say, she's a touch luckier than I had first thought. My but that little Aurora can sing," sighed Rumpelstiltskin.

_Philip didn't hesitate, he raced up the stairs to his right listening to the birds singing growing louder. He came to a landing that split off into a hallway and two more staircases, one rounding away as though in a tower while the other rain straight as a blade upwards. He almost hurdled himself up one of them when he found that the birdsong had reached a decibel of epic proportions. He hurried down the hall, desperate to save Rora from whatever prison she'd been subjected to._

_The prince paused at every door, pressing his ear to each one in turn until he reached a rounded oak door with an iron hatch. Philip tried the hatch but it would not budge. He listened once more to the cacophony of sound coming from the other side and he decided that, regardless of the rumors floating around about what Maleficent kept hidden in her castle, there was nothing for it but to try. Wouldn't it just be his luck to open the door and find death waiting for him on the other side?_

_He filled his lungs deeply and pulled on the door. It was heavy and took no small amount of strength to make it open wide, cringing the whole way. He had expected a number of birds, either flying free about the room or in cages, but nothing had prepared him for the veritable maze of birds that the room presented him with. The stone room was as large as his chambers back in his father's castle and twice over as tall, and its entirety was filled to bursting with cages. _

_The cages were of all shapes and sizes, but no cage held more than a single bird. They hung from the rafters, sat on tables, rested on ornate iron stands, or simply lay forgotten on the slate floor. They were gaudy things, the birds, colorful and extravagant. Even the littlest birds sported the bright plumage of jays, and cardinals, and green finches. And the noise was nigh on deafening. He put his hands to his ears and breathed slowly in and out trying to squash down the panic their clamor for freedom sent through him. They sang different songs but they all said, "Free me! Set me free! I want to be free!"_

_Philip shook with nervousness, he knew how this must work. He could choose one bird, and only one. If he chose the bird who was truly Aurora, she would fly free and perhaps he would be able to turn her human again. If he chose the wrong bird . . . a shiver ran down his spine. He wouldn't, couldn't choose wrong._

_He slowly wound through the nearly endless selection of cages, immediately dismissing birds such as the peahen in her gilded cage hanging from the rafters, and the swan locked behind silver bars on a beautiful pedestal, and the ethereal barn owl chained to her perch. They were stunningly beautiful, like his Rora, but none of them were singers. He paused before several other, smaller, cages. One held a little green finch who sang sweetly, but there was no love in its voice. Another held a black spotted loon whose willowy song sounded like something Aurora might sing, but it only sang one tune. Rora sang so many. Then he stopped by the mourning dove who cooed at him alluringly, but she still wasn't the right one._

_He searched, tentatively reaching at cage doors, only to talk himself out of each guess. Perhaps Aurora wasn't even in here. None of these birds seemed right. He sank to the floor, world weary and physically exhausted and leaned heavily against the leg of a heavy wooden table. He moved to cover his ears as the cardinal and bluebird on the table behind him screamed for him to release them. He paused, his hands hallway to his ears when he heard it. He was hearing two cardinals, then only one while the bluebird had doubled, and then there was a song completely different from any other in the room, and suddenly it changed again. The singer was plaintive and desperate, like all the others, but there was something else in its voice. Hope._

_His sluggishness forgotten, Philip leapt to his feet and examined the cages on the table more closely. There was a little yellow meadowlark, the cardinal he had heard, then the bluebird, and wedged between the two was a drab little mockingbird. He stared at it, unable to believe that he could have missed it. The bird beat its wings desperately, pressing her breast against the wooden bars of her cage. Her song wailed, and trilled, and spilled forth all at once very much like a bird but so very Rora nonetheless. _

_Tears ran unabated down Philips cheeks as he unlatched the little door to the mockingbird's cage, certainty and relief filling him to the brim. The mocking bird burst from her wooden prison in a flurry of feathers and song. The bars from the other birds' cages melted away, setting them at liberty all at once. They flocked and flew about the room jubilantly crashing through the arched windows and exploding from the door Philip had entered by. Philip shielded his eyes with his arms as the birds buffeted him about, brushing and bruising him with their exultant wings and bodies as they escaped towards freedom at last._

_As the sound of beating wings and birdsong died away Philip dropped his arms and saw what he had not dared to hope he would ever see again. Lying face down amidst a sea of down, with colorful feathers raining down around her, was Aurora clothed in a simple white shift, her dark golden hair splayed out around her head like a halo. He rushed to her, fell down heavily onto his knees and scooped her inert form gently into his arms. He turned her until he could brush her hair away from her face; her face was still, as though she was asleep. A desperate sob broke from his lips as his tears splashed onto her face._

"_Thank the Gods, Oh my sweet Aurora," he choked as he buried his face into her neck. He looked into her face once more, smoothed a hand across her cheek then shook her gently. "Rora, wake up. Please love, wake up," he called to her gently. She didn't even twitch. Fear and panic crept up from his stomach once more. What could he do? She wouldn't wake up. He shook her harder, yelled her name, screamed for her to wake. The only indication that she wasn't lost was the soft breath he felt come from her as his hand smoothed over the skin of her face over and over._

_He clung to her listless body like a child to his favorite stuffed toy. His stomach fell through the floor when her breath hitched. Then stopped. He had been too late._

_He bent his face to hers and kissed her gently one last time, too selfish to let her body rest in peace._

_Life flared beneath his fingers as it raced through her veins once more. She gasped, pulling her face from his abruptly as her eyes flying open in shock. Philip sat her up swiftly as she began to cough heavily, her body rejecting its brush with death. He held her tightly, overjoyed to feel her heart beating in counterpoint to his own. "Rora, I thought you were gone," he cried. As she clung to him in return, burying her face in the wet cloak at his shoulder. They sat there for several surreal moments, reveling in being able to truly hold one another at last. Her shoulders shook with the intensity of her tears, and Philip was quite certain that he looked a fright as he sobbed like a child into her hair._

"_Oh Philip," she rasped, her voice hoarse from singing and crying out for liberation. "I thought you would never find me. Please Gods, tell me you didn't do anything stupid to find me," she wept._

_Philip laughed wetly, "Of course not, Rora. I did _many_ stupid things to find you."_

* * *

_A/N: Good lord, I cannot believe how much these two have taken over my life. I apologize. Haha. More Rumbelle and one more leg of Rora and Philip's crazy adventure in Maleficent's castle, Coming Soon to a literary site near you! Stonington, Marquessa de Santos, and Sincerely Nessa, thank you so much for your reviews. I always enjoy your thoughts and constructive criticisms; they help me better my writing. Also this story is going to go up on tumblr soon as well, so if you've got one search the tags! Today's chapter title is brought to you by the letter: Elvis Presley, and the number: yeah it was originally a single, so sue me. Haha. _


	9. Fairytale

**A/N:** After the hardship and heartbreak of the last two episodes of OUaT I felt compelled to take up this monster of a story again. I just want to reiterate that I came up with the idea for this story after last season and before this one, but of course there have been some things that I just can't help but put in here to some extent. Lord love a duck my heart hurts.

**Fairytale**

A storm was brewing just outside of the town limits, and Gold . . . _Rumpelstiltskin_ . . . didn't like it. Not one bit.

He _loved _it.

Things were changing, things were _shifting_ in Storybrook and he could feel the slow deterioration of the curse, like mist dissipating in the sun. No, it was more violent than that. It was as though the claws of the world they had left behind had suddenly taken hold in every townsperson and was slowly tearing their memories apart. And people kept coming into the shop, searching for things they had left behind but couldn't clearly remember.

Chaos was setting in on the town, and Rumpelstiltskin was eating it up. It wouldn't be long now, not long at all. His shriveled heart gave a soft shudder at the price to be paid for the next step in his plot, but he shoved it from his mind as he picked up his nearly empty cup and drained the last of the, now stone cold, tea from it with a self-confidant smile. A flutter of color caught his eye as Belle rounded the corner from the kitchen and approached him.

She was growing anxious, he knew, being stuck indoors while the weather outside was turning absolutely heavenly, barring that impending tempest. He couldn't let her out into the garden, not yet. He couldn't let her go into town, not yet. Not with Regina sniffing around for her. That insufferable woman had visited his shop twice in less than as many weeks, asking questions and feeling out his answers. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to find out if he knew of or had even found Belle.

He smiled warmly at the creature in question as she pulled an ancient tuffet across the room to sit at his hand, her cheery yellow sundress fluttering lightly as she sat. Dawn and Katherine clearly had wonderful taste, and he found it endlessly hilarious that most of the clothes they had picked had turned out to either be blue or yellow. Blue was his favorite color on her, and yellow her favorite color to wear.

Almost reflexively, Rumpelstiltskin reached out his hand to wind a curled lock of her hair about his fingers, worrying it as though he were spinning again. He missed his spinning wheel, he didn't know who had it (it certainly wasn't him) and he vowed to find it as soon as possible. Because this pretty thing was driving him absolutely to distraction with her charming clothes and tempting rose scented oils, and the sheer amount of devotion she felt towards him that would smack him dead on in the chest from the merest glance from her.

She was doing it now, and it was killing him. Gods, he wanted to kiss her. She was so close at hand, all he would have to do is lean only a little—

"Do you know it is sixty degrees outside today?" asked Belle, with a look of accusation in her eyes. Thank the Gods she had spoken, his resolve had been just about gone. He had almost kissed her. Jesus. She had only been living with him for two months and she had already taken down almost all of his walls. She was working a lot faster this time around.

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed heavily and leaned further into the chair, putting no small amount of distance between them. "Sixty, is that so?" he asked quietly, quirking a brow at her. He knew where this was going to go, and he was not for it. Not all. No, this was absolutely the wrong time.

Belle leaned forward, aggressive as ever as she closed the gap between them once more. She rested her hands on his forearms braced on the arms of the chair. "Yes, sixty. And it's absurdly lovely out. And you've only been into your shop three times this week," she said, her eyes narrowed on him. He felt his pulse quicken from her nearness.

The way she behaved around him was unseemly. He knew she had loved him once, that kiss never would have worked had she not. He knew she cared for him now, which was evidenced enough in that she was still here. And that he could understand, he'd saved her from that pit of despair. But in this moment, as she smiled wickedly at him and curled her fingers around his arms possessively . . . it was as though she _wanted_ him. That couldn't be right.

"What a load of bollocks. It's getting ready to rain, Belle. A nasty storm I gather from the look of those clouds out. And what does it matter that I've been neglecting my shop? I deserve a bit of a holiday," he said dismissively as he lightly shook her hands from his arms and picked up the daily Mirror opening it to put a barrier between them.

Belle made an unladylike and frustrated sort of noise. Her little hand appeared above the edge of the paper, coming down forcefully on it, tearing down the paper partition. "Rumpelstiltskin, please. Even back home you at least let me out into the garden, the grounds. I've just been inside . . . for so long . . ." Belle pleaded, her eyes suddenly blanking, seeing something he could not. Rumple's heart clenched, he knew what she meant. At least a little.

A cold dark cell. Water dripped down its stone walls with a forlorn tapping, almost rhythmic enough to be hypnotizing. The light was worse than poor, and the bars that held him in . . . like teeth. He suppressed an involuntary shiver as best he could, but Belle's sharp eyes missed nothing. "Please?" she asked quietly, laying her hand lightly on his arm. He shoved his misgivings away forcefully. His Belle wanted freedom, he would bend over backwards to give it to her.

"Do you know I feel a bit like a drive? Care to join me?" asked Rumpelstiltskin as he laid the Daily Mirror aside decisively. If the way Belle's face lit up with happiness was any indication then he had said the right thing. She leapt from his side to dash through the house as he hauled himself to his feet, digging about in his pocket for the car keys.

Rumple met her in the hall before the front door, a fuzzy white cardigan about her shoulders to ward off any sort of winter chill that might still hang in the air. Her lovely face was resplendent, a contented smile painting her features with such happiness. When their gazes met he nearly stumbled, knocked sideways by the sheer amount affection in that luminescent blue gaze of hers. He shook his head and took hold of the reins tighter in his hands. He could not falter now. He was far too close to stray from the path.

Belle all but skipped down the steps of the old Queen Anne towards the sedate black Caddy in the drive. He really didn't know where they would drive to, it wasn't as though they could leave town. But he supposed that to her, it didn't really matter where they went if only she could see more of this world than that dank cell she had been confined to and his dilapidated old home that she was now imprisoned in.

They rode in near silence as he drove her all about town, speaking only when he pointed out certain buildings or when she asked a question. The town was almost bustling, everyone taking advantage of the glorious weather before Mother Nature slammed into them with one of her notorious spring storms. Belle would tense every so often when she saw a face she knew. She wouldn't say anything, but he knew.

It would have surprised him that she knew so very many people, after all before she had fallen under his employ she had known few people. Her father, fiancé, a small number of courtiers and a handful of pleasant villagers had been her only acquaintances and friends. But he had missed so much of her life after she had left him. It seemed as though she had met very nearly everyone in the old world during her travels. If his Belle could charm and befriend the Dark One, the very toughest nut to crack, then it stood to reason that anyone who crossed her path would have instantly become her friend . . . with one very large exception, of course.

He glanced over at Belle for what felt like the thousandth time. She had her cheek rested on her hand as she leaned into the open window to gaze sadly at the town. She was so very far away it seemed. And there were so very many walls between them. Walls of his own making.

Fuck it.

Rumpelstiltskin took a hard left and pointed the Cadillac away from town, driving them into the woods. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle perk up, her face alert and alight with curious excitement.

"Where are we going? I thought we couldn't leave town?" she asked brightly.

"We can't. However we're not leaving town. I'm taking you somewhere . . ." he paused, unsure how to describe their destination. Special? Unusual? Singular? "Somewhere important," he decided at last. No one was on these back roads and so he took liberty with his driving, reaching the cabin in record time.

He winced inwardly at the mere sight of it. So much had happened in her absence, so many wrongs committed. He steeled himself, preparing his soul as though he were about to tear off a bandage. Do it quickly and it would hurt less, he reasoned.

The slams of the caddy's doors reverberated against the trees as the two of them made their way to the dilapidated cabin nestled in the forest. Rumpelstilskin's shriveled heart clenched tightly in his chest as he fumbled the heavy keys from his suit pocket and let them inside.

Belle stepped over the threshold, her eyes going everywhere, taking it all in, the fine layer of dust, the overall unkemptness of the place. It wasn't quite as bad as it had been when he'd first come here after his memories had t-boned him. But it had been several months since he had last visited. He shook his head, trying to push that memory out of his mind.

"Rumple, where are we?" asked Belle quietly as she explored the shabby cabin. She ran her fingers along the dusty surface of an old table, drawing lazy lines in the dust. "This certainly doesn't look like you," she grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his lips in return. Her smiles were just so infectious, he didn't think he could keep one from his face if he tried. "No, indeed it isn't my style, Belle. You're certainly right about that." He leaned dependently on his old cane as he hobbled towards an old kitchen chair. He sat heavily and wrapped his fingers tightly about the glittering gold handle of the cane. "It's Bae's style. Simple. Homey. Warm."

Belle pivoted away from the hutch she had been investigating, full of knickknacks he had thought his son would like. "Bae?" she asked quizzically as she approached him warily.

Rumplestiltskin gestured to the chair opposite him at the filthy kitchen table. Belle sat carefully keeping her eyes trained on him intently. "Yes Bae. My son," he replied wistfully, a sad smile on his face. Shock blossomed on Belle's face, so intense he found it hard to look at her straight on. Suddenly his found his old leather gloves absolutely fascinating. "Belle, there's so much to tell you. So many evils in my past. I . . . I'm not sure where to begin."

Silence fell thickly in the old cabin, pushing in on his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, he wanted her to speak and yet was afraid. He was ready for her rejection even though he knew it would probably kill him in the end.

The loud scraping of the kitchen chair as Belle dragged it around the table brought him back to the little cabin. She pulled her chair around the table and set it next to his. She sat down decisively and took his hand firmly in hers. "Trust me, I know it's hard to start," confided Belle softly. "So might I suggest that you start at the beginning." She smiled brightly at him and gave his hand a squeeze.

Suddenly his fears seemed silly. The words spilled forth from his mouth like poison being drawn from a wound. "Long before you were born, the lands were ravaged by a terrible war with the ogres. Soldiers fell so swiftly that they were forced to bolster their numbers by taking children onto the battle fields. Only one thing was on my mind then. I had to save my son, no matter the cost . . ."

It was more than a lot to process. Though really Belle wasn't surprised at how much there really was to the man sitting next to her. He had lived for so long, seen so much, done even more. She could tell that he had left out a few choice anecdotes. If he ever wanted to confide in her about them she was confident that he would. She took a deep breath to steady herself before she could even contemplate speaking.

"Everything you've done has been for Bae?" she asked tentatively as she withdrew her hand from his. Throughout his tale he had clutched it so hard that her fingers had gone numb and tingling.

"Everything. I sold my soul to save him. I committed the most heinous sins to find him. Ruined countless lives, just to bring myself here," Rumplestiltskin looked her square in the eye, regret and pain etched in every line of his face. "Even drove away the woman I love most so that I could keep looking for him. Belle I'm so sorry. I'll never be able to say it enough to you. I'm so sorry!" his face crumpled in defeat driving Belle to take him in her arms and cradle him like a lost little boy.

"Water under the bridge now, I think," she replied brightly, painting her words as lightly as she could.

He laughed wetly into her shoulder. "Oh gods, Belle. I wish it was that easy for me. how can you even look at me after everything I've done. To Milah, your father, everyone in this damn town . . . ?" he cried into her shoulder as he clung tighter to her. She could feel his fear, that she would pull away. She wondered if he could feel her fear in return, scared beyond measure that this crazy plot of his would rip him away from her forever.

She dragged her fingers through his hair and rested her cheek upon his crown. "I don't believe you're that same man anymore. I think . . . that if you feel so wretched about what you've done it means . . . it means you're changing. And for the better it seems," she confessed as she stroked his hair soothingly. "I still see the good in you. I always will."

"Belle, what sort of beast would I still be if I had never found you again?" he pondered quietly.

She doubted he truly wanted an answer, and truthfully she was afraid of what that answer might be. She glanced around at the cabin once more, taking in the little details that were all around her, knickknacks, furniture, and the layout of it all. It was meticulous, if filthy. Everything seemed to have a purpose or a reason for being there. It had been put together with a great deal of thought and care. "And so this place . . . this place is meant for Bae?" she inquired, hoping to draw him from his black study.

Rumple took several deep breaths before answering her. He drew himself from her arms at last and sat back into his chair, wiping viciously at the wet streaks on his face. "Yes. When I was still gripped by the curse I believed that this place was for the son I lost in a divorce. That maybe he would want to live near me one day. It really wasn't too far off," he laughed darkly.

Belle nodded sympathetically. "And Emma? How will she break the curse?"

"I have a theory, though only time will tell. I can tell you that we're close. People are starting to remember," he looked at her uncertainly. "The part I must play . . . Belle, I have to play the monster for her."

Belle sighed as she thought. She had faith in him, that his wickedness was only a façade now. And no matter what she saw now, there must be no room for doubt. She looked up and held his gaze determinedly. "I trust you."

A smile of relief split his face a weight seeming to fall from his shoulders. "Thank the gods. Goodness knows I'll need your strength before the end," he confessed as he pulled himself slowly to his feet. "There's more to tell, there always will be with me I'm afraid. But for now, how about we finish our drive. Maybe stop by and visit your friend, the singing princess. She lives around here, you know."

Belle smiled, reveling in the same lightness that Rumple felt. "I think that's a marvelous idea." They made their way out of the dark old cabin into the sun dappled drive where the Caddy sat waiting. It almost felt as if they were leaving their troubles behind in the shabby old building, to be kept safe there until it was time to take them up again.

Belle settled into the cold leather seat of the car, buckling herself in safely excited to see Dawn's home and to maybe meet Kathryn at last. They drove in comfortable silence, sharing a look every now and then as they drove the winding forest roads. At last they came upon a pleasant little house. It had only one floor, numerous windows, and a dilapidated old chimney. The whole thing was painted a cheery butter yellow with a vermillion door. Numerous flower beds were beginning to sport the first green shoots of spring flowers.

As they parked in the car's drive Belle hopped out, excited and nervous to visit her friend's home. She glanced over her shoulder to find Rumple standing just off to the side, out of view of the door. Belle rolled her eyes exasperatedly before knocking brightly on the door. A lovely blonde woman yanked the door open moments later, she was clearly flustered and exhausted with dark rings under her blue eyes and her hair a tad unkempt. "Can I help you?" she asked tersely.

"I'm sorry to drop by like this but my name's uh, Rose. I'm a friend of Dawn's and—"

Recognition dawned in the blonde's eyes. "Oh Rose! Oh yes, Dawn's talked about you so much. I'm Kathryn," she prattled as she held out her hand. Belle took it and shook it awkwardly. "I hate to do this, but do you think you can back some other time? Dawn's . . . a little out of sorts today and—"

Rumple stepped out from behind Belle, revealing himself in a way that Kathryn must have found disturbing, as she withdrew from the doorway clearly taken off guard. "What's the matter with Dawn?" asked Rumple sharply. "Is she behaving . . . oddly?"

Kathryn's brow creased suspiciously. "How did you . . . ?"

"Kathryn, I think you may want to let Rose, here, talk to her," he commanded firmly. Belle didn't hesitate as she brushed past Kathryn into the little house. The sound of crumpling paper and harsh whispers drew her down the small corridors, hopefully towards Dawn.

"It was so weird. I got home after her last night and when I came in she was still up," Kathryn's voice floated down the hall to Belle's ears. "She's been rooting through old pictures and going through all of her stuff. Like she's looking for something, but she won't tell me what!"

Belle found her way into Dawn's room. Photo albums were strewn across the floor and her bed and it seemed as though every book had been taken off of her shelves and lay open bleeding ripped pages everywhere. And Dawn herself was in the middle of it all, pouring over the pages of a little booklet whose pages seemed to be covered with nothing but names. The dark blonde was a disheveled mess, she was clearly wearing the same dress from the night before, now rumpled and creased, and her hair was in desperate need of a brushing. "Dawn?" asked Belle carefully.

"Oh Belle! Hi! Look I'm just going through some . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry, did I just call you Belle?" Dawn looked frightened by what had come out of her mouth. "I don't have the slightest idea where that came from."

"Dawn, what's the matter?" asked Belle as she sat down before her friend, wincing as she found herself ruining the pages of at least two open books. Whatever had happened, they did not deserve such an ignominious end.

Dawn laughed manically as she continued to leaf through the little book of names. "Well last night . . . last night I think I had a nervous breakdown! And did it happen here, in the safety of my own home? Of course not!" Dawn tossed away the little book and dropped her head into her hands. "I had the strangest hallucination right as I finally kissed Paul. Dammit, I don't think I'm ever going to catch a break with this guy! Not that it matters anymore, seeing as I'm losing my mind."

Belle glanced over her shoulder to find Kathryn and Rumple standing in Dawn's doorway. Concern was in every line of Kathryn's face while Rumple looked . . . calculating. She frowned at him in question but he merely shook his head. Whatever he was thinking was not meant for their ears. "What do you mean hallucination?" asked Belle slowly. "Maybe you were just seeing fireworks! You know, true love and all that."

Dawn shook her head. "No . . . I mean yes, but it wasn't just that. I felt like I had been there before, like I'd kissed a man I hadn't even spoken to much before a couple months or so ago before. I felt like we've known each forever. And then I saw my aunt Mary but it didn't look like my aunt Mary, she had wings. And there were castles, and a grey horse, and a great big purple dragon," Dawn's eyes were distant. "And as if that wasn't bad enough, on my way home I realized that I can't remember when aunt Mary left. I can't find any pictures of us together and I know I would have saved at least some. I can't find music for any of the songs I know, how else did I learn them? I can't even remember when I met Kathryn!" She turned sharply on her blonde friend as she snarled her fingers through her hair, "Do you remember when we met?!" she snapped at Kathryn.

Kathryn's eyes blanked and her mouth fell open. "We met in high school. Freshman year," she replied robotically.

"Really? Because even though I _know_ that, I can't remember it!" cried Dawn in utter frustration. Belle shimmied over the pile of refuse on Dawn's floor and comforted her friend.

"I think you should get some rest. You haven't slept since last night, have you?" asked Belle matronly.

"No, but . . . "

"Perhaps, after a good cup of tea and a nice long rest you'll be able to piece things together better. Make sense of it all." Dawn's tension seemed to seep away with Belle's every word. Belle cradled Dawn's shoulders in her arms, letting her old friend lean her head tiredly on her own shoulder. She tried not to laugh, she seemed to be everyone's shoulder to cry on these days.

She saw Rumple whisper to Kathryn who left Dawn's doorway and disappear into the house. Rumple hobbled carefully into Dawn's room. "Let's get you into bed now, shall we Dearie?" he suggested gently, all edge to his voice gone. Belle and Rumple struggled to get Dawn to her feet and lead her to her paper strewn bed. Belle set Dawn down on one of the few paper free spaces on the bed so that she and Rumple could tidy up just a tad.

Kathryn returned with a battered old teapot and a sturdy beaker, steaming with a tea that smelled like fresh cut grass. "I thought chamomile would be best," she explained as she set the tray on Dawn's nightstand. Together the three of them got Dawn tucked into bed and picked up most of the papers and books all over the poor girl's room. Dawn had taken three deep swallows of tea before finally nodding off.

"She's going to sleep for a while, I'm sure. Don't worry about her, I'm certain she'll be right as rain soon enough," she Rumple shortly as he nearly dragged Belle to the front door.

"Are you sure, I mean this might be serious!" she called as Rumple guided Belle swiftly to the passenger side of the Caddy.

"I know it doesn't count for much, but I think you should trust me," he called in return.

"Call us if you need help. We'll be in touch!" called Belle as she hopped into the car. "What the hell is going on, Rumple? Why did you make us leave like that? I think Dawn needs our help!" she snapped as she buckled herself into the car.

A triumphant smile slanted across Rumple's face. "Trust me, Belle. I'd wager that in less than two days from now she'll be more than fine."

"What?"

"It's the curse. We seem to have reached a crossroads at last. I'm afraid we're going to have to cut our day short. We need to go to the shop." He replied cooly as they sped down the winding roads.

"The shop. You're taking me to your shop?" asked Belle, more confused than ever. She sank deeper into her seat as he began to take curves more sharply.

Rumple grinned wolfishly. "Oh, yes. I believe there's more than one desperate soul waiting for me."

"Are you sure?"

"_Trust me_."

_Aurora and Philip laughed together as they fought their way to a stand, reluctant to let go of one another even for a moment. They dashed through Maleficent's castle, winding down the stairs to the dais, basking in their own happiness when suddenly Philip stopped. He could not leave yet. His task wasn't finished. He halted by the ornate throne on the dais and put both hands to Aurora's soft shoulders._

"_Aurora, I have one more thing to do. Wait for me here, I hope not to be too long," he said reassuringly and turned to dash up the other flight of stairs, certain that his second trial awaited him up there. The tight grip of her hands at his wrists brought him up short._

_He looked to her face, it was livid with rage and fear. "Like hell I will!" she snapped. "I let you run away from me once, and look where that got us. You have one more monster to slay? You're going to do it with me or not at all," she growled and swept past him. Her bare feet slapped the stone floor loudly as she stormed away from him and up the stairs, her cotton shift swirling about her calves. _

_Philip resolved himself and took off after her. "So what are we up to?" she called over her shoulder as they filed up the winding staircase._

_He fidgeted, unsure of how to tell her what he meant to do. "Well, I don't really think I should tell you. And you'll probably figure it out when we find it anyway," he evaded her scrutinizing gaze as she scowled back at him. They explored this second wing of the castle thoroughly, peering through every door they could open, and taking every flight of stairs they could. Philip felt rather dizzy by the time they found what he had been looking for._

"_Oh Philip, you can't be serious," whispered Aurora softly, her voice filled with fright. Philip stepped around her and entered the elegant room properly. There was a fire roaring in the grate at the hearth, spilling warm golden light onto the large wooden banquet table, the ornate tapestries, the shining glass front case . . . and the magnificent black unicorn standing in the midst of it all, tall as an ogre and beautiful as a nightmare._

_The dark unicorn lowered his head, his silken mane rippling, laid his ears flat against his skull and pawed anxiously at the floor, kicking up bright sparks as his iron hooves grated the stone flags. _I know why you have come. And while I welcome you, my mistress has bound me to her service. I will fight you. Try to kill you_, the sibilant voice of the unicorn hissed in their very skulls._

"_I don't want this," grated Philip through clenched teeth as he drew the Sword of Truth from its scabbard. "I don't want to kill you . . . but I made a deal," he said sadly. How much was his soul going to suffer for killing a unicorn, even if it was one as corrupted as this poor beast?_

Ha, you have no idea how much I wish for you to take my life. To set me free like you did your little prize over there_, snarled the unicorn. _I was beautiful once. Pure and gleaming as the snow. Now look at me!_ he roared, the force of his anger giving Philip a splitting headache. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aurora stemming the flow of a nosebleed._

That witch seduced me, sent a maid to the wood to capture me. And I am not the first she has done this despicable thing to, _he nodded at the glass case. The prince and princess were horrified to find nearly a dozen black spiraled horns in all sizes, from the length and breadth of the Sword of Truth to that of a knitting needle._ She placed this slave's token about my neck and now I am no better than the dirt on your boot_, he lamented as he began to circle Philip, his long, golden spiral of a horn pointed at Philip's heart. For the first time the prince noticed the intricate golden collar about the beast's neck. The unicorn took advantage of Philip's momentary distraction and lunged, his horn on course._

_Philip dove ungracefully to the floor, swinging the Sword broadly. The tip of the blade sliced across the unicorn's chest, drawing a thin line of silvery blood. Philip felt strong fingers close about his wrist as Aurora dragged him hastily to his feet. The two of them, hand in hand, raced through the castle trying to reach the great entry hall. They flew down the stairs single file, their hands clasped tightly. Philip hazarded a glance behind them and wished he hadn't. The unicorn had leapt down the stairs in a single bound, sparks flying as his metal hooves clattered against the stone floor._

_Philip's heart skipped a beat when Aurora's hand left his. She had leapt onto the grand throne and motioned for him to keep running. She was unarmed; he trusted that she would stay out of the way. So Philip ran full tilt down the stairs, drawing the unicorn away from Rora. Again, as though he was trying to take off into flight, the unicorn leapt down the stairs, his black tail flying like a war banner. When the unicorn landed in a shower of fiery sparks, Philip rounded on him, wielding the Sword of Truth as lethally as he could._

_He drew blood from the unicorn several times, shedding none of his own. The unicorn whinnied shrilly as he reared back onto his back legs, drawing his height to its fullest. "No!" screamed Philip as the flurry of white skirts caught his attention. Aurora had dashed halfway down the stairs and had thrown herself onto the beast's back. _

_The force of her body landing onto his own forced the unicorn back to all fours. Aurora groped at the fastenings of the unicorn's slave collar as he bucked and dove, racing about the pillars trying to rid himself of the princess. His words belied his actions. _Have pity on me! Take it off!_ He cried desperately though his body tried in vain to unseat her. Philip watched in awe as Rora rode out the storm of the unicorn, never once losing her balance. He thanked whatever Gods were watching them for giving her the grace and skill to take on this monster._

_With a loud clack, the collar fell from the unicorn's neck to the stone flags of the hall. The beast suddenly halted dead in his tracks, freed at last. Aurora slid shakily from the unicorn's back. Slowly the coal black coat of the unicorn turned purest white, his flaming eyes softened to emerald, clear and bright, and his iron hooves took on the same golden glitter as his horn. Rora fell into Philip's open arms as the beast's knees buckled._

Please, I am not long for this world now. Set me free with honor. Pay your debt to the devil_, he pleaded, his voice deep and warm now, but so very tired._

"_I can't," said Philip sadly._

Please!_ Wailed the unicorn in desperation. _You, girl. You will need to help him from this place once he pulls the horn from my brow_. The unicorn sagged, his muzzle snuffling wetly on the floor. _I know the fear in your heart. Once the devil takes my horn, you will be free as I will be. Your soul will not tear, for you will take my life out of pity and kindness, not malice or greed.

_The unicorn raised his head as far as he could, and Philip took mercy on the beast. Tears fell from his emerald eyes to sizzle on the flags. There was a sad smile in the unicorn's voice when it spoke again, _Your heart is good. It is filled with love and honor. Only a true heart could enlist the Sword of Truth to his cause so completely._ Philip knelt beside the dying creature, unsurprised when Aurora mimicked him. The unicorn nuzzled the sword the Philip he had sheathed at his hip, _Take good care of him, friend. I think he may truly be a hero. Both of them_. Philip and Aurora threw their arms about his neck, giving him one last moment of comfort before Philip set his hand lightly on the unicorn's horn. _

_He closed his eyes as he wound his free hand into the unicorn's soft mane and tightened his fingers about the unicorn's glittering horn. "May the Gods forgive me," he whispered repentantly and pulled with all his might. When the horn broke cleanly away from the unicorn's brow he heard the beast sigh with relief before his body melted away like mist in the sunlight. The horn turned from burnished gold to obsidian black in Philip's hand and quite suddenly he found that he could not move._

_Guilt wracked his whole body, causing his muscles to seize, clench and unclench. He was dimly aware of Aurora's panicked actions. She shook him, yelled into his face, but he could not blink or look at her. He heard her call Sampson. A clattering of hooves and the crash of the front doors bursting open alerted him to the presence of his faithful mount._

_Aurora had Sampson kneel beside him, he felt her haul his inert body onto the horse's back. For a moment he was afraid that he would drop the horn that it would shatter when it crashed to the ground. But his fingers couldn't release the horn, even if he had wanted to. He felt her mount behind him in the saddle and Sampson surged to a stand. They rode through the hall and Sampson picked his way carefully down the front stairs._

_The guilt was excruciating. It raced in his blood, like poison. Philip knew he would never forget this feeling for as long as he lived, that it would rear its ugly head at odd moments, to haunt him. He would remember forever. _

_As they rode slowly down the long, stony path a large purple cloud of smoke billowed in front of them. Gods no, it couldn't be Maleficent back already! When the smoke cleared, Rumpelstiltskin stood in a flamboyant outfit, smiling like a lunatic._

"_Success, I see!" he giggled, his arms flourishing dramatically._

"_You!" called Aurora. Philip felt her arm clench tighter about his waist._

_The imp laughed deliriously, "Of course me! Where else do you think your little prince would have found such a magnificent toy?" he asked coyly, waving a hand toward the Sword, strapped to Philip's hip. "Now, as for our bargain . . ."_

"_Why couldn't you steal it yourself?" snarled Aurora. "Look what it's done to him!"_

_The imp clucked at Aurora impatiently. "Well you see . . . Maleficent doesn't like to have me over. Says I leave the place a mess. So how else was I about to get it?" he asked as innocently as a devil could. He danced towards Sampson, setting the horse at ill ease. "Not that it's any of my business, but you'll want to get yourselves away from here pretty fast. I think I hear the beastie coming back," said Rumpelstiltskin as he reached for the horn._

_The imp pried at Philip's fingers with astounding strength. "Oh, and he'll be dead to the world for a few days, figure out your escape route now, dearie for he'll be no help to you."_

"_But I don't even know where we are!" cried Aurora as the imp finally wrested the horn from Philip's fingers. The world went black._

_A/N: So I've overcome my horrible case of writer's block, at least for now thank God. I know we're not supposed to do personal shout outs here, but I just want to say thank you to all the wonderful people who are reading and reviewing. I couldn't do this without you! Today's title is an unusual one. The song is by Alexander Rybek and it won Eurovision in 2009. Awesome song, and it's SO very Rumbelle._


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